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The 

King of Thomond 

A Story of Yesterday 
By 

Martin W. Barr 



Boston 

Herbert B. Turner & Company 
1907 


Copy rights igoy 

By Herbert B. Turner & Co. 



v'- 


All rights reserved 


lUBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Cooies Received 

Ai'f? 8 1907 



COPY B. 


PUBLISHED MARCH, I907 



COLONIAL PRESS 

Electrotyped and Printed by C. H . Shnonds < 5 t* Co. 
Boston, U.S. A. 


Wf)a ^l)aU Be l^amelegg 


WHOSE NOBILITY OF CHARACTER AND HIGH IDEALS LED 
ME ALWAYS TO LOOK UPWARD; WHOSE MANLINESS AND 
GENTLENESS EVER INCITED MY EMULATION; WHOSE 
SWEETNESS OF NATURE REMAINS, LIKE SOME SUBTLE 
PERFUME, IN THE HEARTS OF THOSE WHO BEST LOVED 
HIM 

I DEDICATE THIS LITTLE BOOK. 


( 


1 

I 

\ 


♦ 


OVE is the first mystery of the world. . . . 



Death is the second. Between the two there 


is nothing but a weariness darkened with shadows 
and thick with mists. What is gold ? A cinder that 
glows in the darkness a moment and falls away to 
a cold ash in our hand when we have taken it. But 
love is a treasure which remains. What is renown? 
A cry uttered in the bazar of men whose minds are 
subject to change as their bodies are to death. But 
the voice of love is heard in paradise, singing beside 
the fountains Tasnim and Salsahil. What is power? 
A net with which to draw wealth and fame from 
the waters of life. To what end? We must die. 
. . . Death is stronger than man or woman, but love 
is stronger than death, and all else is but a vision 
seen in the desert, having no reality.” 


Khaled to Zehowah. 


V 


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.1 

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foretJJotD 


FEEL that I may now, without indiscretion, 



S. give this story to the public, and in so doing 
wrong no one, as all the actors in this strange drama 
of life are, to the best of my knowledge, dead these 
many years. If by any chance there be some who 
recognize the personages who move to and fro on 
this stage, they will keep silent and make no pro- 
test, for they are not vitally interested and are but 
the audience, like myself and you who read. 

The story is mine, written down by one for me 
exclusively to use as I thought best; therefore there 
can be no criticism. It is just as it left her hands, 
except where I have supplied here and there a word 
or sentence that she had omitted when she was “ not 
herself;” when the poor diseased brain could not 
formulate correctly or the nervous hand had refused 
to write. I have also thought it best to substitute 
fictitious names where the originals, as belonging to 
prominent families, have been too well known. 


IX 


jF0teto0i:U 


Let me observe just here that I am in no 'way 
responsible for Mrs. O’Brien’s sentiments nor does 
she voice mine. My attitude toward the marriage 
of defectives and insane, or indeed of any neurotic, 
has been long since taken and defended, and the 
almost inevitable penalties and results of such con- 
nection have been elaborated in my book on “ Men- 
tal Defectives.” Vide Chapter IV. 

The story came into my possession in this wise: 
Directly after my graduation from the University 
of Pennsylvania, I was appointed assistant physician 
in the large insane hospital at Harrisonville, and 
soon found myself growing more and more inter- 
ested in this borderland of another country, as I 
lingered daily in the wards, talking with its queer 
folk, each absorbed in a different vagary or with 
a fancy which I was often able to humor. Thus, 
old Mr. Chase would want a bit of licorice for his 
aching teeth; it mattered not that the teeth had 
all been removed thirty odd years before; half a 
stick would make him happy for a week; old Mrs. 
Ca^n wanted a bit of blue calico to make her doll 
a silk dress to wear to a party, given by Miss Moon 
and Mr. Sun; Mr. Harvey would like a few water- 
colors and a pad to paint a wonderful picture of the 
infernal regions from memory; Mrs. Steele, a dog’s 


jForetoorU 


hair brush to clean the white cats out of her eyes, 
while Miss Mills, who had been created poetess 
laureate of the whole world, must have some paper 
and pencils to write an ode to a blighted life. 
These — rich and poor, simple and gentle — among 
the flotsam and jetsam that the tide of misfortune 
throws upon that strange beach, a large State hos- 
pital for the insane, each and all had their wants 
easily supplied, and sometimes the results were 
startling. 

But there was one dainty old lady who made no 
requests and who attracted me greatly. Silent and 
reserved, she did not mingle generally with the 
others, but spent much time apart in her own little 
room, engaged in quiet occupations — sewing, read- 
ing, or gazing motionless out of the window. This 
during her lucid intervals; but there were other 
times when she seemed as if torn by the “ seven 
devils,” and would lie for days screaming, crying, 
and cursing. It was pitiful to see her then, her hair 
unbound, throwing herself wildly to and fro, and so 
utterly different from her ordinary self. From these 
attacks she would emerge sweet, quiet, and sad. She 
took but little notice of me at first, except to say 
good morning, and once, after an unusually severe 
attack, she apologized in her gentle way for giving 


jPoretoorti 


so much trouble. One Christmas morning I brought 
her some chocolate bonbons, of which I found she 
was very fond, and a little book — “Undine” — 
bound in red, limp leather, at the same time wishing 
her a merry Christmas. She turned from the win- 
dow where she was standing, and thanked me very 
sweetly, and after a pause asked, as her eyes filled 
with tears: “ Doctor Barr, can one bereft of the 
power to reason accurately, who is done with happi- 
ness and all else that life holds dear — almost with 
life itself — be merry ? I am fifty years old and 
have never known but one merry Christmas in all 
that time. I live on the memory of three peaceful 
years but of only one merry Christmas. May yours 
be very many more! ” She asked my age, and when 
I told her twenty- four, she repeated : “ Twenty- 
four. My heart died before I was that age.” 
Then she began to talk of the book, telling me how 
she had always loved Undine. “ Poor Undine,” she 
added, “ she was faithful to the last. She loved 
Huldebrand more than she did herself, yet after all 
was forced to slay him with a kiss. But she knew 
life, in its truest sense, for she loved and was 
loved.” 

This was the beginning of a more intimate ac- 
quaintance that facilitated my study of her case, and 
xii 


jr cretDori 


finding that with her intense love of beauty, the 
little refinements of living were to her a necessity 
rather than a luxury, I was enabled to contribute 
to her comfort in many ways without intruding 
upon a sensitiveness that I knew shrunk from even 
an appearance of complaining. An ardent lover of 
books, she could discuss with keen appreciation both 
characters and events; of the mere gossip of the 
hospital or on personal matters, she was silent, and 
never after that Christmas morning did she refer 
even in the remotest way to her past life. 

The meager record in the case-book of the hospi- 
tal reads: 


“CASE: NO. 1671 

“ I. Una Constance Mabie O’Brien. Admitted, June 
3d, 18— 

“ 2. Sex, age, and nativity. Female — 50 years (?) 
— A?nerica 7 i (?). 

“ 3. Residence for the year previous to entering hos- 
pital or so much thereof as is known. Surrey Cowtiy 
Ahnshouse. 

“ 4. Occupation, trade, or employment. Teacher, 

“5. Names of parents, if living. Unknown. 

“ 6. Name of husband or wife. Unknown. 

“ 7. Name of children. Unknown. 

“8. Names of brothers and sisters and the residences 
of each of these persons. Unknown. 

xiii 


J oretootli 


“9. If not more than one of these classes is known, 
the names and residences of such of the next degree of 
relation as are known. Unknown. 

“ 10. Names and addresses of all medical attendants 
of the patient during the last two years. Unknown. 

“ But little is known of patient. Taught a small 
school in Harrisonville for a time, but was unsuccessful, 
owing to peculiarities and eccentricities, which became 
very marked, and she was finally taken in charge by the 
poor authorities of Surrey County. After a sojourn of a 
few months in the almshouse, exhibited decided symp- 
toms of insanity. Refused to eat, became very melan- 
choly and finally maniacal. Became at times violent 
and dangerous. Removed by directors of the poor to 
this hospital. Nothing is known of previous history.” 

She was so different from the rest; so unpreten- 
tious, yet so refined. There was about her the air 
of the high-born lady which was not dependent 
upon costume. The simple dress of blue cotton, 
furnished by the hospital, was fashioned by her own 
deft fingers to fit to perfection the slender, graceful 
figure. The open collar revealed a neck shapely as 
a column upon which, as upon her hands, time had 
gathered but few wrinkles. The hair, snow-white, 
parted on the left side, drooped low and waving over 
her forehead; a style that evidently had not varied 
in years, judging from the miniature left in my 


XIV 


if oretoorU 


keeping. The full red lips closed in a perfect bow 
over teeth equally perfect. The eyes of that deep 
steel gray, with lids long lashed, and beautifully 
browed, seemed ever to look backwards, not for- 
wards. A complexion of pure ivory revealed the 
veins, blue on the temples, and, at times, a faint 
flush of pink on the cheeks. Yet with all these 
remains of a beauty — indeed not yet faded — an 
expression of indescribable sadness, of loss, and of 
longing gave an impression of her being very old; 
so that, though but little beyond middle life — just 
fifty — she was, as I have named her, an old lady. 
She was so graceful and dignified, that one in look- 
ing at her insensibly pictured some stately mansion, 
and she in brocades and flashing jewels as its gra- 
cious chatelaine; in truth her lucid intervals were 
largely filled with the gentle charities of kindly 
deeds — in reading to the sick or in the preparation 
of little dishes to tempt a poor appetite; in helping 
the inexperienced in the cutting and fitting of gar- 
ments; and to soothe throbbing heads with cool 
hands, she was ever ready. 

Her voice, though a little thin and worn, was 
sweet and true, and she was fond of sitting at the 
piano, or with her guitar at dusk, and singing 
snatches of old songs: “Linger not Long,” “Go 


XV 


iForetDorU 


Forget Me, Why Should Sorrow? ” “ The Heather 
Bell,” Tom Moore’s “ Feast of Roses,” and Blumen- 
thal’s “ My Queen,” but her favorite — the one she 
sang oftenest — was Samuel Lover’s “ Indian Sum- 
mer,” with its sweet, quaint tune. Of this she never 
tired, nor did her listeners, so much soul did she 
throw into her voice. 

One day, during my morning visit, she asked me 
for a large note-book and some paper and pencils. 
These I brought her, and day after day she wrote 
and corrected ; writing first on paper and then tran- 
scribing carefully, occasionally saying, when I came, 
“ I am doing this for you.” 

She always appreciated any little thing I would 
bring her — fruit, candy, magazines, books, etc. — 
and while chatting with comparative brightness of 
the events of the day, still maintained that impene- 
trable reserve regarding private matters. 

During my second year in the hospital she began 
to fail rapidly. Her excited periods became both 
more violent and more frequent, and one winter 
night, eluding a new and careless nurse, she escaped 
in her night-dress and bare feet. She was found, 
two hours later, after diligent search, almost frozen, 
sitting in the snow in the grounds of the hospital, 
singing and crooning and talking to herself. From 
xvi 


JForetoDtti 


this shock she never recovered; pneumonia devel- 
oped and for days and weeks she was very ill. But 
with the failure of her physical powers, the brain 
cleared and, when she recognized that the end was 
near, she sent for me, and said: 

“ Doctor Barr, I am going very rapidly. I know 
it and am not sorry. Open my top bureau drawer; 
pull it quite out — and behind it you will find a 
packet. Fetch it to me.” I did so. 

“ Now open it.” I did so, and discovered a beau- 
tiful miniature set in gold, and the note-book that 
had so long occupied her, in which was a faded 
photograph. “ See, all are for you. The miniature 
— hold it up so that I can see it — it is myself in 
happier days — painted for him, and worn always 
over his heart. I have only this photograph of him 
when he was twenty-one, taken after some tableaux, 
in a costume belonging to his great-grandfather; 
but I liked it best and never wanted another. In 
the book you will find the story of my life — and, 
and — ” she fumbled in her bosom and brought out 
a magnificent diamond ring — a stone, pure white, 
held in a trident; a quaint setting of Neptune, ris- 
ing from the waves, which broke around him. 

“ See my engagement — and my wedding-ring in 
one. He gave it to me and all these years I have 
xvii 


JoretoorU 


hidden it, no one guessed where. I have gone cold, 
hungry, and shelterless, but I have never parted with 
it. I could always fill and cover it with wax, and 
then wind it with a bit of string, and no one sus- 
pected it was anything but a plaything. But now it 
is yours and I want you to wedr it always and to 
keep the pictures — his and mine. You will under- 
stand all when you have read my story. I know 
you sometimes write and you are free to do with 
it as you will. And now good-by, good, kind friend 
— I think — I have scarcely strength to think. 
Come closer — give me your hand — bend down — 
my Brian Boru — my King of Thomond — my 
loved one — no, you are not he — there he is — 
standing by the window. See his arms open to en- 
fold me. I am coming, Brian — my beloved,” — 
she smiled, her wandering eyes met mine, and all 
was over. 

Reverently we laid her to rest in the little ceme- 
tery on the hilltop, under the pines and chestnuts, 
and soon her name was forgotten in the hospital, 
where it is best to allow the veil of forgetfulness to 
fall quickly after one has written in the case-book: 

“Died of pneumonia, January 15th, 18 — . 

Buried in hospital cemetery, January 17th, 18 — .” 

xviii 


iForetoorli 


The evening of her burial I read the story of her 
life — the life that had so much cloud and so little 
sunshine — eagerly; read through the night to the 
last word, the story which runs thus: 


xix 


of Ct)omonft 

Chapter I 


^fOME day, should you go to Maryland, you 
^tJmsLy care to visit the Island of Thomond, 
where the few happy years of my life were spent. 
The old house has been burned, so I understand, 
but some traces of the garden must remain, and 
when you see it, think: “ Here is where love was 
born — here is where her heart first beat with life 
and then turned to stone.” I have left it all behind 
and am nearing another shore, or I could not have 
the courage to tell you my story. 

I have kept silent in regard to my past because it 
was too sacred to speak of, but you have been so 
kind to me — such a true friend — that I want you 
to have everything, even the life-history of Una 
Constance Mabie O’Brien. 

My memory (except when I am sick) is as clear 
as ever, and my past life stands out before my mind’s 


SD|)c of Ctomonli 


eye as if it were but yesterday. I am only indiffer- 
ently educated and am not clever in writing, and 
sometimes I have great difficulty in expressing my- 
self in a lucid manner. Therefore you will see that 
I lay no claim to even moderate literary ability, and 
the minuteness of my narration may at times prove 
tiresome. If so, pardon me, dear friend. 

Now to begin at the very beginning: 

I am descended on my father’s side from a good 
Dutch family. 

My great-grandfather, one Johannes Mabie, was 
one of the first of the New Amsterdam settlers to 
locate in the beautiful Valley of the Mohawk, 
which was then a wilderness. He is said to have 
been an epileptic, and during an attack was 
drowned in a watercourse scarcely a foot deep, 
while watering his horses. He had two sons — 
Hendrick and Myndert. 

By the law of entail the estate of some thirty-five 
hundred acres descended to Hendrick, the elder, 
who, erecting a stately mansion of stone — one of 
the handsomest in that region, not excepting even 
that of Sir William Johnston — became in time one 
of the most respected, as well as one of the wealthiest 
members of his community, and at the outbreak of 
the revolution was an adherent of the young Repub- 


2 


CJe of C[)omoni 


lie. Myndert, my grandfather, joined the Tories 
and, crossing the border into Canada, accepted a 
commission as colonel of a regiment known as 
“ Butler’s Rangers,” a corps celebrated for its 
cruelty. 

At the close of the war he was retained on half- 
pay and, as a further reward for having slaughtered 
many of his countrymen, including a number of his 
own relatives, received from the British Govern- 
ment an estate of some three thousand acres near 
Toronto. 

Here he settled, marrying Manon, the only child 
of Raoul Rouvier, a wealthy French merchant of 
Toronto. It is told of him that during the war of 
1812 (I think it was about 1814) the Americans 
and British were cannonading at long range across 
the St. Lawrence — the Americans being at Fort 
Niagara — when Myndert observed a ball strike 
the ground and ricochet, without exploding. Pick- 
ing it up he tossed it to a British gunner, saying: 

Send it back and perhaps it may kill a d — d 
rebel.” He had scarcely spoken before a “ d — d 
rebel ” shot struck and killed him instantly. When 
his brother Hendrick heard of it, he remarked with 
true Dutch stolidity: “Served him right; the 
rascal had no business to be there.” 


3 


of CbomoniJ 


His wife, my grandmother, died soon after, leav- 
ing an only son — Valere Mabie — my father. He 
was sent to boarding-school and later to a Canadian 
college, and at twenty-one came into the full pos- 
session of a not inconsiderable property, for the 
management of which he had been in no way pre- 
pared. Ever a wild, headstrong lad, with no home 
ties to bind him to Canada, he recklessly sold out 
his interests there at a loss and went to New York 
City; from there he drifted to Europe, where he 
dropped out of sight for some four or five years. 
At the end of that time, he wrote to his uncle Hen- 
drick to borrow money, frankly acknowledging that 
he had squandered his patrimony in riotous living. 
His uncle sent him a check for $ioo and told him 
to shift for himself. He disappeared for another 
five years, when he again wrote to his uncle that 
he was married and penniless, and that his wife 
was about to become a mother. A curt letter of 
refusal, telling him to trouble him no further, was 
the only response he received. 

It seems that my father had adopted the stage 
as a profession and had married an actress. Of my 
mother’s family I know absolutely nothing. But, 
from her diary and from some letters of my father’s, 
I glean that she was of English birth, her name 


4 


Cfte of Cbomonti 


Constance Keith. I have some play-books that 
they had evidently studied together: “The Incon- 
stant,” by Farquhar, in which my father was Mira- 
bel and my mother Oriana; “ The Road to Ruin,” 
by Thomas Holcroft — my mother the Widow 
Warren and father Harry Dornton; Edward 
Young’s tragedy of “ The Revenge,” in which my 
father played the part of Zanga and my mother, 
Leonora. In a copy of the “ Faerie Queene ” which 
I also have, the name of Una and passages relating 
to her are repeatedly marked, and in her diary my 
mother now and again dwells upon that type of a 
noble woman — pure and constant. She refers also 
to the impression that the character of Constance 
makes upon her. By a singular coincidence she 
took the part of Constance in three plays consecu- 
tively: “The Love Chase” and “The Provost of 
Bruges, ” — both by Knowles, — my father playing 
Wildrake in the former and Bouchard in the latter, 
and in “ King John,” he taking the title role. 

My mother’s diary is pitiful reading. My father 
had loved her passionately at first, but tired of her 
as her beauty began to fade. “ How could it be 
otherwise,” she pathetically writes, “ he is so hand- 
some and so admired and flattered by every one; 
and the life is hard, so hard. Still if only he would 
5 


®i)e Etnff of CjDmonH 


now and then give me a kind word; but I believe 
he hates me, and I cannot leave him. And now that 
my child is coming, I wish we might die together — 
unless — perhaps — she — my little Una Constance 
— might win him to love me again.” Poor young 
thing ! She had a premonition — shall I call it a 
premonition, or rather a realization ? — that in her 
condition it was impossible for her to survive her 
trial. The excitement, weariness, and unceasing toil 
of a life which brought her neither the food, cloth- 
ing, nor medical attention that her condition de- 
manded pressed heavily upon her, and to these were 
superadded neglect and often cruelty. What won- 
der then that she wrote: “ Now that my child is 
coming I wish that we might both die together.” 
At last, one January night, through much travail 
and pain, I came. It had been a trying season and 
the troupe was giving a performance in a miserable 
little draughty hall in Norristown. It was on this 
occasion, notwithstanding her condition, that my 
mother appeared as Constance in King John; im- 
mediately after the close of the play she was taken 
ill, and toward morning I was born. She lived but 
a few moments after I opened my eyes; just long 
enough to kiss me, to whisper the name she had 
chosen for me: “My little Una Constance — my 
6 


CJe i^tns of C!)amon5 

poor little baby. God bless you ! ” and she was 
^ gone. 

They buried her in the cemetery there. She 
rested sweetly on the bosom of mother earth, and 
I, alas! could never know the cradle of a mother’s 
arms. My father, who had no idea of being bur- 
dened with a baby, left me with his landlady. Mrs. 
Mullin was a busy woman, with a hotel to look 
after. In fact she was both host and hostess of 
The Yellow Rose, her husband being a lazy, 
shiftless ne’er-do-well. But she did her best for 
me in her homely fashion, and if not tender, was 
always kind. My earliest recollection, when I was 
almost three years old, is of a dog named Fay, and 
of playing in the stable yard, back of the hotel, 
where the farmers quartered their stock on market 
days. 

I was always fond of climbing up into the wagons 
and I got to know most of the men very well. They 
were always kind to me, and many were the red 
apples, russet pears, popcorn, bunches of grapes, and 
flowers that they brought me. Many the rides that 
I took on their horses, and now and again a kind- 
hearted man would take me home with him over- 
night. At such times I was petted and feasted, and 
the farmer’s families would look at me with com- 
7 


d)e of CftomonH 


passion in their eyes. Many of them would shake 
their heads and say, “ Poor little thing,” and 
fondle me. I did not know exactly what a poor 
little thing was, but it seemed to me that by being 
a poor little thing I was in some way superior to 
other children, and therefore I felt it was nice and 
something to be proud of. 

So, until I was five years old, I ran wild, often 
barefoot in summer, among the roughest people; 
but I never heard an obscene word, although their 
language and expressions were not always the most 
refined. Mrs. Mullin, always good, never re- 
strained me. Although I gathered from scraps of 
conversation that my father was very irregular in 
his payments, it made no difference to this kind 
friend who, having no children of her own, had 
taken me to her heart and was most indulgent. In 
truth, the first grief I ever experienced was the loss 
of this foster-mother, in my sixth year. I can re- 
member being taken into her room to bid her 
good-by. Her face was flushed, there were dark 
rings under her eyes, and she was breathing heavily. 
When I came to her bed she motioned to me to 
come closer, and as I kissed her, she said : “ God 
bless you, Una Constance. Be a good girl always.” 


8 


of Ctomonti 

Then a tall, thin woman, whom I heard them call 
the nurse, led me away and put me to bed. 

The next day the hotel was closed. Every one 
walked softly and I heard them say, “ She is 
dead; ” and when I came near, they would say, “ I 
wonder what’s to become of her,” and intuitively 
I knew they were talking of me. The day of the 
funeral I remember well, for, dressed in a blue print 
frock with a broad black sash, a black ribbon 
around my left arm and black streamers around my 
hat, I was taken into the parlor to see, for the last 
time, my good old friend in her coffin, dressed in 
white and covered with flowers. The Methodist 
minister was there in his long black coat and 
preached a long sermon. Then we went to the 
cemetery in a carriage and I held tight hold of Mr. 
Mullin’s hand. When we came back, a tall, light- 
haired man, with cruel blue eyes, was waiting for 
me; he told me he was my father, and that he had 
come to take me away. I did not like his face, and 
he caught and shook me when I tried to run away. 
I screamed and clung sobbing to father Mullin. 
He was all I had in the world now; him I knew 
and loved, not this cold stranger. He had always 
been a good sort of comrade, even in his drunken 
spells, never harming me, always ready to share his 
9 


of SU!)omonli 


pennies, or give me candy, and now we were both 
at one stroke in a sense orphaned; both had lost 
a mother. He, poor man, was powerless to help me, 
for homeless, friendless, and an irresponsible, he was 
about to drift to his death in the almshouse, while 
I in the grasp of this cruel man was to meet a life 
scarcely less cold. 

Crossly bidding me to dry my eyes and stop my 
tantrums, my father half-led, half-carried me to 
the waiting stage-coach, and soon all that I was 
ever to know of my childhood’s home was lost in 
the darkness as I sobbed myself to sleep. 


lO 


Chapter II 


/ WAKED to find myself in a dingy lodging- 
home in Philadelphia. My father took me, 
half-dazed as I was, into a stuffy dining-room 
where some dozen people were gathered round a 
table. There was a shout of welcome, and immedi- 
ately a black bottle was passed, from which he took 
a long, deep draught of something. 

“ Is this the brat? ” said a large, red-faced young 
woman. “ Come here ! ” I shivered and drew back. 
She fascinated while she repelled me. I could only 
stare. She wore a dress of dirty red silk, her lips 
were thick and red, her cheeks very red and her 
hair very yellow. Jewels sparkled in her ears and 
on her fat, stumpy fingers. 

“ Well, zany,” she said, “ what are you staring 
at?” 

‘‘At you,” I replied, suddenly forgetting my 
bashfulness. “ Are you the scarlet woman the 
minister preached about? ” 

There was a roar of laughter from all except my 
father and the woman, who both frowned, and she 


II 


SUbe of Ci^omontr 


bit her lip as she observed : “ Children should be 
seen, not heard.” My father gave me a hard slap 
over the ears and bade me eat my supper, as one 
of the other women called out: “Now, Perdita, 
you oughtn’t to get mad at the child, for she recog- 
nized you at once,” and turning to me she added: 
“ The lady is Miss Perdita Duchesne. But come, 
it is time for us all to be going; bring the child 
along.” I hastily finished my supper and we all 
started for the theatre, my father and Miss Perdita 
walking together, I dragging behind, half-asleep, 
and too worn out with fatigue and excitement to 
realize where I was, when we had passed the little 
door, and were within the mystic region behind the 
scenes. 

The plays that night were Gay’s “ Beggar’s 
Opera,” and its sequel, “ Polly,” my father taking 
the part of Captain Macheath and Miss Duchesne 
that of Polly Peachum, in both. In those days, an 
actor did a little of everything; sang in comic 
opera one night, danced the next, and acted in trag- 
edy the third. I soon learned that my father and 
this woman were both the managers and the stars 
of the company. 

After an indifferent season in Philadelphia, we 
journeyed through the country towns; sometimes 


12 


C|)e 0f CJomontr 


lucky, sometimes not. My father, who drank more 
and more heavily, never gave me a kind word, and 
Miss Duchesne, who never forgave me that unfor- 
tunate remark about the scarlet woman, lost no 
opportunity to abuse me both by words and blows. 
Left to my own devices behind the scenes, I wove 
from them my visions, and dreamed my own 
dreams. Where other children play with dolls, I 
played — as it were — with real people. Now a 
country girl and now a boy, I wandered through 
green fields and down shadowy lanes, or was a fairy 
in fairyland. I read and re-read the “ Faerie 
Queene ” that my mother had loved and marked, 
until I almost knew it by heart ; and in my dreaming 
I would picture myself as Una, and I determined 
some day to have a white ass and a lion and a 
lamb. Many of the actors were kind to me in their 
careless way, but they were far too busy to think 
of me very often, and although living in a crowd, 
I was singularly alone. I was utilized occasionally 
when a child was needed on the stage, but I was 
stupid, and much to my father’s disgust did him no 
credit, and won only harsh words which drove me 
more and more within myself. 

And yet I was not altogether stupid. I can re- 
member a number of the ’ plays. Indeed I know 

13 


d)e of Cj)omoalJ 


most of them by heart: “The Maid of Marien- 
dorpt,” by Sheridan Knowles, in which my father 
took the part of Rupert Roselheim and Miss Du- 
chesne the part of Meeta; “The Country Girl,” 
altered by Garrick from Wycherly’s “ Country 
Wife,” in which Miss Duchesne played the part of 
Peggy Thrift splendidly, and my father was no less 
successful as Belville; “The Fatal Marriage,” by 
Thomas Southern — Miss Duchesne playing Isa- 
bella to my father’s Biron. It was always such a 
delight to me to see her go mad and then kill her- 
self! 

When I think of those four years, the most crit- 
ical period of child life, passed in such an atmos- 
phere, “ I pity my own heart as though I held it 
in my hand.” It ended for me, as abruptly as it 
had begun. 

One night, in one of our provincial tours, my 
father came out of a cold dressing-room complain- 
ing of feeling ill. He and Miss Duchesne hurried 
to the boarding-house, with me as usual lagging 
behind ; and I never saw him again. A severe cold 
resulted in pneumonia, and within three days they 
told me he was dead. 

I can recall now the perfect apathy with which 
I received the news; indeed my first and only 

14 


®I)e jibing: of C!)omonti 


thought was that he could never scold nor maltreat 
me any more. How could I grieve for one who 
did not love me, and who had never taught me to 
love him? My uncle Hendrick came, a great, big, 
red-faced, loud-voiced man, and hurried me off, as 
my father had done a few years before; indeed the 
scenes of my life seem to shift as rapidly and as 
effectively as those of a theatre. 


*5 


Chapter III 


FOUND myself at ten years of age in a school 
in Wilmington, Delaware, kept by three women 
— Friends — by the name of Pusey. They were 
a peculiar trio. Their scholars were taught always 
to address them as “ teacher,” not miss. Teacher 
Hannah was about forty-five, I suppose, tall, thin, 
and sallow, with straight, black hair and “ eyes of 
no color — once they might have smiled, but never, 
never, had forgot themselves in smiling.” She had 
a large, coarse mouth and hairy moles on the side 
of her nose and lip. Her voice was cold, and when, 
on the one occasion of meeting, she shook hands 
with me, I felt as if I had touched a toad and 
shivered. 

Teacher Sallie was short and fat, with a round, 
pleasant face, and would, I think, have been nice 
and kind and chatty, had she not stood in such awe 
of Teacher Hannah, that she was afraid to call her 
soul her own; so, having developed no personality, 
she was silent and undemonstrative. 

Teacher Mary, the youngest — perhaps approach- 
16 


C|)e of Ciomonb 


ing forty — with snapping black eyes and red 
cheeks, would have been pretty, but she, like 
Teacher Hannah, was disfigured by several moles 
on the face. She was pettish and peevish and rather 
kittenish at times, but was, in the eyes of her two 
sisters, the one perfect thing in the world. 

They lived in an ordinary three-story brick house 
with a narrow yard running back to where stood a 
starv^ed, stunted peach-tree. A narrow brick walk 
separated two narrow grass plats, where a few 
spindling plants had struggled into blossom against 
the walls on either side. 

Into this unlovely, loveless abode, I was intro- 
duced one chill November day by my gruff uncle, 
who had scarcely spoken a word to me during our 
journey from Philadelphia. Teacher Sallie opened 
the door and ushered us into a parlor cold, prim, 
and dim. Teacher Hannah came in and my uncle 
immediately turned me over to her, paid her some 
money, and hurried away without even a good-by 
to me. 

Bidding me take off my wraps. Teacher Han- 
nah, with a curt, “ Come with me,” waved me 
up the narrow stairway, cautioning me not to touch 
the walls or the banisters. The room over the 
back parlor was the schoolroom, with ten plain 

17 


0f S^bomoai 


wooden desks, and a big armchair in the corner, 
from which Teacher Hannah could command the 
whole room at a glance. At the desks were three 
little boys and six girls, sitting face to the wall, 
with hands behind backs and heads bent over their 
books. They neither turned nor looked up as we 
entered, and Teacher Hannah, motioning to me to 
sit down, began to examine me. I had learned to 
read, had picked up some little knowledge of figures, 
and having an excellent memory, could give the 
names and location of many of the towns we had 
visited; but beyond this I was absolutely ignorant, 
as far as school requirements go. 

After a little. Teacher Mary came in and took 
me into the front room, where sat a girl of about 
sixteen, who was not a regular scholar, but took 
only a few studies such as her health permitted, as 
she was an invalid, subject to epileptic attacks. Her 
father, a naval officer, had sent her here chiefly to 
be taken care of — and that she certainly was; for 
whatever else may be lacking in a Friend’s school, 
its pupils are under watchful guardianship. 

Teacher Mary here began to initiate me into the 
mysteries of grammar, geography, and history, until 
recess, when we were marshalled down the stairs, 
into the back yard, and decorously paraded up and 

i8 


C()e of C!)0monli 


down the narrow pathway, while Teacher Mary 
stood at the window, to see that we walked prop- 
erly. 

When this exercise was finished and we had 
gathered on the back porch for a few moments, a 
pretty little girl about my own age came up to me, 
and asked my name, where I was from, and what 
my father did. When I told her she looked first 
amazed and then exclaimed in a loud voice: “ Her 
father is a play-actor. How horrible! Why, they 
say all play-actors drink; does your father drink? ” 
When I, in my innocence, acknowledged that he 
did, she screamed again and told all the other 
children, who looked shocked. Then they were 
amused at my name. They thought it “ so odd 
and so funny.” And the girl said : “ Our fathers 
are gentlemen; and yours is not. We don’t want 
you to come near us. Go away.” The girl had 
beautiful yellow hair, a fine white skin, and bright 
black eyes which pierced one. Her dress was a 
lovely pink organdie and mine was an old faded 
green print. She seemed to me a beautiful princess, 
and beauty always fascinated me; so in reply I 
kissed her. She pushed me away and slapped me in 
the face. 

“ Beast! ” she cried. “You daughter of a play- 

19 


Cl^e of Ci^omonti 

actor! Your father is a drunkard, and will go to 
hell.” 

“Oh, hush!” I replied. “My father is dead.” 

“ Then he is in hell now,” and she struck me 
again. 

I became dizzy. Everything swam before my 
eyes. All the latent fury in me was roused. I felt 
as if I could kill her, as I sprang forward, struck 
her full in the face, and threw her down with a 
strength born of the passion within me. They 
thought me half-civilized — a barbarian. The chil- 
dren made no outcry, but stood in awed amaze. 
The school-bell rang, but we did not heed it. Sud- 
denly all three teachers appeared, and I felt myself 
drawn away and shaken violently by the arm. It 
was Teacher Hannah who held me in a grip, stern 
and uncompromising, from which there was no 
escape. The other teachers lifted the girl, Lucy 
Ash, from the ground, and began to brush her, but 
Teacher Hannah simply glared. Lucy told how I 
had attacked her unprovoked, and her story was 
corroborated by the others. Filled with disgust at 
their lies, I was too stunned even to deny the accu- 
sation, and made no defense. I really knew nothing 
of children, having met but few in my life, except- 
ing in my occasional visits to the farmers. I looked 


20 


QLfjc of d)omonU 

at her, and she was so beautiful that I stepped for- 
ward again to kiss her, but the action was misin- 
terpreted, and Teacher Hannah again drew me 
back, and shook me until my teeth chattered like 
castanets. “ Oh ! ” I said, “ I forgive her. She is 
so beautiful; she is like Elaine, the Lily Maid of 
Astolat.” The teachers looked at me in amaze- 
ment, and Lucy cried out : “ She is a wicked, 

wicked girl; she struck me and I didn’t do any- 
thing. Ain’t that so ? ” and she appealed to the 
other children. They all nodded. Again the bony 
fingers of Teacher Hannah closed on me, and I 
was shaken like a wisp in the wind. “ Now apolo- 
gize,” she said. “ I will not,” I replied. “ She is 
not Elaine; she is Fidessa, who pretends to be true 
faith, when she is only Duessa, false faith, the 
daughter of Falsehood and Shame.” 

Here Teacher Sallie interposed with : “ Bless 
me, what has the child been reading?” “The 
‘ Faerie Queene,’ ” I replied. “ Stuff,” said Teacher 
Hannah. “ Come with me.” And she led me into 
the house and promptly locked me in a closet under 
the stairs to meditate, she said. Here, without food 
or drink, I stayed until evening, when I was taken 
out, lectured on my wickedness, and put to bed, 
with a glass of milk and a piece of dry bread for 


21 


aLie Eins: of d^omonti 


my supper. To me, however, that made but little 
difference, since in my stage days I had too often 
gone hungry, and the good bread and sweet, rich 
milk proved as great a luxury as was the bath and 
the little low white cot — the best and cleanest bed 
I had ever known. 

I slept soundly after these strange and new ex- 
periences, and awoke early — before the other chil- 
dren. I can well recall the atmosphere of protec- 
tion and peace that pervaded that little dormitory; 
something to me so unreal, that I wondered if it 
was not one of my dreams, until it was broken 
by a call from the open doorway. “ Children, get 
up,” said Teacher Sallie, and with an admonitory 
shake and some assistance to the sluggish ones, the 
washing and dressing were soon accomplished; and 
at half-past six we were conducted, in the same 
orderly fashion of the day before, down-stairs to 
the breakfast-table, where a simple, but substantial, 
meal was served with the same exquisite neatness 
that had characterized the bedroom. Teacher Han- 
nah taking care that nothing should suffer from 
contact with our hands. 

The breakfast over, we divided into groups to 
assist in the rearrangement of bedrooms, dining- 
room, and kitchen. At eight o’clock our line, aug- 


22 


Eins: of 2U!)om0nli 


merited by the addition of the day-scholars, waited 
outside the schoolroom door for Teacher Hannah’s 
summons. Then I heard : “ Enter Una Constance. 
Good morning, Una Constance. Take thy seat, 
Una Constance.” I followed the example of the 
others, whom I found with bowed heads and hands 
clasped behind backs, seated at their desks. The 
same precision attended every action. Thus when 
my assailant of the previous day received the com- 
mand : “ Open thy desk, Lucy Ash, and take out 
thy spelling-book,” she did that and nothing more, 
simply returning to her former position and await- 
ing the next command, given after this one had been 
repeated to all the pupils, and each book had been 
placed before its owner. Then followed : “ Open 
thy spelling-book, Lucy Ash, at page six, and prepare 
the first column.” Each child had a different 
lesson, and turning the chairs to face the teacher, 
recited it entirely alone so that there should be no 
prompting, and, as was supposed, the mind be con- 
centrated without the distraction of listening to 
another’s recitation. Not only was this not achieved, 
but neither did the child receive the stimulus of 
emulation and competition. 

Still greater concentration was attempted by re- 
quiring us to discover our own failures. Thus, one 

23 


Cbe of d)omoaIi 


day, after I had recited half a page of my history 
lesson, Teacher Hannah oracularly announced: 
“ Thee has omitted a word, Una Constance. What 
was the word ? ” Upon my failure to find it, I was 
remanded to my position of face about, to study a 
lesson which had been entirely faultless in other 
respects. 

Teacher Hannah, when not dominating us, was 
munching candy, and this was a fruitful source of 
distraction, while insipient envy and insatiable long- 
ing filled our hearts. At eleven o’clock each in turn 
was called to leave the room silently, and tip down- 
stairs to the back door, where Teacher Mary was 
stationed to give a glass full of water — no more, 
and no less — as we were not allowed to waste, and 
the glass must be ready for the next one. Oh ! the 
dreariness of those hours from eight o’clock until 
two! 

Dinner, like breakfast, was simple and substantial 
— dry bread, soup, and pudding, or meat with a 
vegetable and fruit. After an afternoon study 
period from 2.30 to 4, the day-scholars went home, 
and we, for exercise, walked slowly around the 
square, ten paces apart, while Teacher Mary kept 
guard over us from the door-step. After a frugal 
supper of bread and butter, stewed fruit, and cam- 


24 


C!)e of C()nmonti 


brie tea, we gathered again around the table with 
our sewing and knitting, while Teacher Hannah 
read to us some moral book, such as “ The Life of 
Elizabeth Fry,” the “ Memoirs of Caroline Eliza- 
beth Smelt,” etc., — but never a poem or a fairy- 
tale. On Sundays we were taken to the Friends’ 
Meeting, another atmosphere of silence. Never, 
except by chance, did we hear music or singing. 
Once when there was a big fireman’s parade, we 
did so much want to see it; but the blinds were 
pulled down, and we were remanded to the back 
yard. In fact, no convent cell ever presented a 
life of greater asceticism. 

We did for a little while, shortly after my com- 
ing, manage to get an hour of free play, but it was 
stolen. We were always put to bed in the third 
story, by Teacher Mary or Teacher Sallie; the boys 
in the front, the girls in the back room. After the 
teacher had gone — leaving us, as she supposed, 
asleep — we would all slip up very quietly, and, 
opening the door between the rooms, w^ould frisk 
about as ghosts or fairies, white birds or rabbits, for 
once as free as those denizens of the wood, and in 
quite as innocent a fashion. That one exhibition 
of power to hold my own, although never repeated, 
had given my companions a wholesome respect for 

25 


dLtie of 0^|)omoiiU 


me, even though 1 was a “ play-actor’s ” daughter ; 
and this respect was further increased by my abil- 
ity to entertain them on these occasions with dra- 
matic presentations of characters I had seen on the 
stage. 

One night, wrapped in a sheet and standing on 
the bureau with a lighted candle in my hand, — a 
candle that I had taken from the mantel, and lighted 
at the gas-jet on the landing, — I was giving them 
Lady Macbeth, when, in the act of descending an 
impromptu stairway formed of a table, a chair, and 
a stool, I looked up to find Teacher Hannah stand- 
ing in the doorway. Alas! that was my last ap- 
pearance, and marked the close of our season. The 
frightened audience was driven shivering back to 
bed, I was soundly spanked; after that the door 
between the rooms was always carefully locked, and 
the outside door as well. No more moonlit fairy 
dells for us! 

Just here is a break in the thread of the story; 
some half-dozen pages altogether incoherent. — M. 
W. Barr. 

Year followed year, in a routine, for me varied 
only by the change of seasons. Other children went 
26 


aLhe of Cl^omoati 


home for vacation, but I — I had no home. They 
received presents and photographs and long letters 
from friends and kinsfolk ; I had no one to think of 
me or to inquire for me. Every creature comfort 
was supplied, and I was trained in many practical 
ways; in that I got what my uncle paid for, but 
my heart and my soul were starved. 

My one recreation was a walk on the banks of 
the Brandywine with one of the teachers. I loved 
to go in the afternoons, so that I could catch 
glimpses of home life: in winter, the happy groups 
in the warm light; in summer, the porches filled 
with beautifully dressed people. One evening, as 
Teacher Mary and I were returning from one of 
these silent walks — we always walked in silence — 
I saw a child come running out of a door and down 
the path to a gate to greet a lady and gentleman. 
She threw her arms around their necks and kissed 
them each in turn. The lady looked at me and 
smiled, and I felt so lonely and so sad. When I 
asked Teacher if it was the father and mother, she 
replied: “ How should I know? Hurry along, or 
we shall be late for supper.” 

That night I cried myself to sleep, for my 
mother’s first and only kiss I did not remember, and 
my father had never kissed me. Poor homeless. 


27 


of Cbomonlf 


friendless, lonely, unloved little girl! I pitied her 
then, and I pity her now! 

“ Ah, babe i’ the wood, without a brother-babe ! 

My own self-pity, like the redbreast bird. 

Flies back to cover all that past with leaves.” 


28 


Chapter IV 


S time went on, my memory, which had 



C yi really received a fair training in the stage 
atmosphere in which I had lived, so facilitated the 
preparation of my lessons, that I was permitted to 
run through all my verbatim recitations in the early 
morning period, and after submitting my arithmetic 
examples to Teacher Hannah’s inspection, I was 
sent into the front room to join the invalid, Clara 
Gray, in reading and hand work with Teacher 
Mary, until dinner. This to me was a double bene- 
fit; not only did the change from the purely ab- 
stract mental work to practical manual occupations 
prove restful, but the interest in something tangible 
roused me from my dreaminess; and, being an apt 
scholar, I soon had the prospect of being in time an 
expert needlewoman. 

My companion, on the contrary, made little or no 
progress beyond some knitting and the dressing of 
dolls. She was not very indolent, but seemed to 
have a positive repugnance to work of any kind; 




due probably to her condition, poor girl! for her 
spasms, as they increased in force and frequency, 
left her dull and stupid. She had a morbid fond- 
ness for listening to the reading or the recital of 
stories which amused her, and her father, who in- 
dulged every reasonable wish, kept her supplied 
with books and magazines. Just before he was 
ordered away on a prolonged cruise, he fell heir to 
some property in our immediate neighborhood — 
a house, which, in the prolonged absences of its 
former owner, had been kept open by its caretakers 
— an old couple — ready for any sudden arrival. 
Captain Gray ordered that there should be no 
change in this arrangement until his return, and 
particularly desired that the books in the library — 
mostly standard works — should be at his daughter’s 
disposal. She was to go there and read, or have the 
books brought to her as she desired. This was 
truly an event in my colorless life, in which I prof- 
ited by the good fortune of another, for, as Teacher 
Mary’s duties multiplied, the office of reader had 
devolved entirely upon me, and here was a veritable 
open sfesame to the cave of riches. I shall never 
forget the first morning we went there, and, while 
Clara watched me apathetically from the sofa, I 
literally browsed. 


30 


of ^bomonti 


“ Books, books, books ! . . . 

Like some small nimble mouse between the ribs 
Of a mastodon, I nibbled here and there 
At this or that box, pulling through the gap, 

In heats of terror, haste, victorious joy. 

The first book first.” 

Hume, Macaulay, Carlyle, Motley, Prescott, and 
Irving, each in turn transported me to. a different 
age or clime. With Dickens, Thackeray, Bulwer, 
Hawthorne, and Cooper, I met people in an ac- 
quaintance much closer than any personal contact 
had ever brought me. Grace Aguilar and Charlotte 
Yonge drew for me heart-satisfying pictures of the 
home of which I had only dreamed. The poets 
lifted me into a psychic world of harmony and 
color, in which I lingered longest with the Brown- 
ings, and beautiful editions of Shakespeare and the 
“ Faerie Queene ” gave suggestions of a pleasure 
new and totally unfamiliar to me — that of a meet- 
ing with old friends. Some studies in sacred and leg- 
endary art proved a key to a portfolio of beautiful 
prints. In these Clara took a peculiar pleasure, 
and when we were in the library together she never 
tired of turning them over and asking questions 
about them; so that in this way I became very 
familiar with them. Del Sarto’s beautiful head of 


31 


d)c Eiuff of d^omoni 


St. John impressed me most, and it was then that 
the “ Lives of the Saints,” the meditations of 
Thomas a Kempis and of St. Francis of Assisi gave 
me my first conception of the relation of religion 
and life, and led me to a daily reading of the Scrip- 
tures. Thus did the legacy dropped into the lap of 
one unfortunate enrich the life of another, and, in 
this way, strangely and half-unconsciously, did I 
enter into another’s heritage. 

Returning one evening from the library with 
Teacher Mary, in passing the grounds of a beauti- 
ful house I saw, standing under a tree, a girl and 
a young man. He held her close in his arms, hers 
were about his neck, and, suddenly, their lips met. 
I stood entranced. It carried me back to the old 
days on the stage when I had seen such scenes en- 
acted, but this was real. Intuitively I felt the 
difference, and stood, lost in this vision of love real- 
ized, until a voice recalled me. Teacher Mary, 
who had gone on, had missed me and had come 
back, saying, “ How disgusting! I am surprised at 
you, Una Constance! Surprised and hurt! Han- 
nah shall hear of this!” “Of what?” I asked, 
tearing myself reluctantly away. “ Why, that you 
lingered to see such an — an — unusual scene.” 

Teacher Hannah expressed her surprise, and 

32 


i^iag of ®^!)omonIi 


Teacher Sallie shook her fat cheeks, but I did not 
care. I knew I had seen that happiness of which 
I had dreamed — to love and to be loved. 

George Macdonald says: “The crisis of our 
life comes upon us suddenly. If we expected it, 
prepared for it, perhaps it would not come.” Mine 
came the very next day in the form of a letter from 
my uncle. He called to my mind that I had now 
arrived at years of discretion; that I was seventeen 
years old ; that the reports of my teachers had been 
in the main good, and that the time had come for 
me to go out into the world and make a living for 
myself. He went on to say that he had answered 
an advertisement in a New York paper for a nur- 
sery-governess in Maryland, near Baltimore; that 
he had made arrangements with the gentleman to 
give me a trial, and that on the first day of June 
I was to go. He enclosed a check for fifty dollars, 
telling me it was the last he would ever give me, 
and that he preferred I should not write nor com- 
municate with him again in any way, as he con- 
sidered he had done more than could have been 
expected of him for the child of one who, by his 
stage career, and by his marriage, had doubly dis- 
graced his family. To one who had never possessed 


33 


C!)e of S^bomonir 


a dollar before in all her life, that check seemed an 
inexhaustible mine of riches. 

I had two weeks in which to make my prepara- 
tions, and, oh, the delight of that shopping! I 
bought a hat, trimmed with pink roses and long 
velvet streamers. Teacher Mary was a little 
shocked, I think, at my gay colors, when I selected 
four dresses of white, blue, pink, and yellow each. 
But she helped me with the cutting and fitting, and, 
emancipated from school, I set busily to work, and 
quite astonished myself at the ease with which I 
accomplished them. So, on the appointed day, every- 
thing was ready. My modest trunk (that I had 
bought for a dollar from Teacher Mary) was 
packed and sent to the station, and some money and 
a ticket were in my little purse. We had a solemn 
breakfast befitting the occasion, and the children 
and the three teachers gathered in the narrow entry. 
Each gave me a perfunctory hand-shake. Said 
Teacher Hannah : “ Farewell ; ” said Teacher Sal- 
lie: “Farewell;” said Teacher Mary: “Fare- 
well.” My heart grew tender and my eyes misty 
with a longing for some caress, some one, tender 
word, but even the children only said, “ Good-by; ” 
the door closed, and I, a girl of seventeen, inex- 
perienced and utterly alone, was adrift on the ocean 
34 


Cbe of Cl)omanti 


of life, with the great world before me, and not even 
a memory to cheer and support me. 

“ Sublimest danger, over which none weeps, 

When any young wayfaring soul goes forth 
Alone, unconscious of the perilous road, 

The day-sun dazzling in his limpid eyes, 

To thrust his own way, he an alien, through 
The world ! 

“ Would you leave 

That child to wander in a battle-field. 

And push his innocent smile against the guns? 
Or even in a catacomb, his torch 
Grown ragged in the fluttering air, and all 
The dark a-mutter round him ? not a child.” 


35 


Chapter V 


7 ' WALKED rapidly down the street to the 
depot, and, though a little confused, I was yet 
able to follow the crowd, and soon found myself 
on the train for Baltimore. 

A lady who sat next to me, I think, must have 
surmised that I was unsophisticated and unused to 
travelling, for she drew me into conversation, and 
when I told her that I was going to Thomond, she 
said, “ Why, that is an island in the Chesapeake. 
You will have to take a steamer, you know.” 
“Yes,” I assented, showing a card — ''The 
ZaideeT “ But do you know how to find the 
steamer? Child, what baggage have you? ” “ Only 
a small trunk,” I answered, trying to be brave. 
But she must have seen despair in my eyes, for she 
quickly replied : “ I know what we will do. I have 
to take a carriage, and it is not much out of my 
way. I will drive to the pier with you.” Surely 
such good women are God’s own messengers in the 
world! Such sympathy and kindness, and all un- 
sought, was a revelation to me. Indeed I hardly 

36 


SCJe Eing: of CjjomonU 


know what step I should have taken, for, suddenly 
released from the swathing bands of my life with 
the three sisters, where every act had been pre- 
scribed for me, I had yet to learn to think for myself. 
As it was I gleaned much from my kind protectress, 
who chatted merrily while we showed our checks, 
had the trunks put on the carriage, and, driving 
rapidly through the city, were soon in the bewilder- 
ing thoroughfare along the piers, where many steam- 
ers were waiting. Even there she did not merely 
drop me, but taking me on board of The Zaidee 
and putting me in charge of the captain, she left 
me with a cheery “ good-by ” and a warm pressure 
of the hand that thrilled me with a realization of 
the parting of friends, such as I had seen in those 
twilight walks. She had given me a pleasant mem- 
ory, and to youth, even to one as stunted as mine, 
that inspired and suggested hope. 

I was interested for some time watching from the 
deck the groups of negroes loading our own steamer 
and those near by, and then, learning that we 
should not leave for nearly three hours, I was 
brave enough to go on shore again and wander 
about among the shops. It was a delight to be 
alone and to be free to do as I pleased. I had 
never been allowed to look into the shop windows, 
37 


Ettiff of Srjomonti 


and now I gazed my fill. I even went so far as 
to go into a little restaurant and order some ice- 
cream. My, how good it tasted! Then I bought 
a box of chocolate creams, and a novel, “ John Hal- 
ifax, Gentleman,” which looked enticing. After this 
extravagance, when I found myself again on the 
steamer, my purse contained just twenty-one cents. 
Soon we were off, and I sat on the deck as we 
moved down the harbor enjoying the air, the water, 
the motion, the sight of the many strange craft, and, 
above all, the sense of freedom. When I told the 
captain I was going to Thomond, he said : “ In- 
deed! to Doctor O’Brien’s?” and when I replied 
in the affirmative, he gave me a quick, searching 
glance, saying, “ I will let you know in time. 
There is no landing-place for us on the island, but 
the doctor generally sends out his boat, and if he 
does not, I will give him a call.” Again that 
sharply inquisitive look, and he left me. A little 
later we were speeding across the water, leaving a 
long line of billowy waves behind us, when, as the 
captain said, “ We struck a squall.” 

The sky clouded darkly, the rain fell heavily, and, 
as the breeze freshened, the bay became covered 
with whitecaps. The boat began to roll, but I 
was not at all seasick, and, after a little, the storm 

38 


CI)e of S^bomoati 


cleared as suddenly as it had begun, and the sun 
shone out again over the blue expanse of water. 
Late in the afternoon, the captain came to tell me 
that we were nearing Thomond. “ See! there 
comes the doctor’s boat, and — yes — there he is 
himself.” Looking in the direction in which he was 
pointing, I saw a long, slender canoe, with two 
snowy sails, coming toward us over the water, like 
a white-winged bird; and soon I could distinguish 
the two passengers, and, on a flag floating from the 
tall mast, the name, Cushla Machree. Our steamer 
slowed down to allow the canoe to run alongside, 
and a gentleman sprang up the step and shook hands 
cordially, as the captain introduced me : “ Doctor 
O’Brien, this is the young lady who is coming to 
your place.” 

“Ah, Miss Mabie! you have left the clouds 
behind and brought the sunshine with you. Cap- 
tain, did you have much of a squall? You can 
see what it left us,” said Doctor O’Brien, as he 
led me to the guards where I was to descend. In- 
deed his little craft was rocking from the swell, 
and I was eying, with some hesitation, the uncer- 
tain step I was about to take, when the doctor, 
without much ado, accomplished it for me, and, 
placing me on the cushioned seat in the stern, took 
39 


d)e of CbomonU 

at one and the same time both the tiller and the 
seat beside me as we swung off. 

The captain waved us good-by as the steamer 
went slowly on its way, and we turned toward the 
setting sun. The salt breeze was delicious, and 
gave me a delightful sense of exhilaration as we 
skimmed over the white-crested waves. Now and 
again, one more saucy than the others would break 
over our prow, but Doctor O’Brien had so envel- 
oped me in rugs, that I could suffer no harm even 
had it reached me, and he evidently enjoyed watch- 
ing my delight. 

“ What a strange name ! ” I exclaimed, as the 
crimson letters on the waving flag caught the sun- 
light. “What is it?” 

Cushla Machreef* he said, half-musingly. 
“ The Irish for ‘ Heart’s Delight.’ And truly. 
Miss Mabie, I believe it is already proving itself 
so to you.” 

“ Indeed, yes,” I answered, “ I never enjoyed any- 
thing so much.” 

“ Well, we shall have a long sail, for the wind 
is dead ahead. You saw us coming wing and wing 
before the wind, but now you will see another kind 
of sailing; and we shall have to do considerable 
tacking,” he said, as, with one sweep of the tiller, 
40 


C!)c of Cbomonlj 


he put the boat about. It obeyed the helm like a 
thing of life, and, with both sails on one side, 
careened to the water s edge and shipped a wave 
that gave me a dash of glittering spray. “ There’s 
a welcome from old Neptune,” laughed he, as I 
caught my breath in ecstasy. “You are a good 
sailor, Miss Mabie. Is this your first experience? ” 
“ My very first. And, oh, how charming! ” 

“ The first then of many, I can promise you.” 
The kindly tones attracted me, and as he rose 
for the moment to give his attention to handling 
the ropes, I had opportunity to curiously observe 
my new guardian. A man of about thirty-eight, 
with a compact, well-knit frame, lithe and sinewy, 
he stood six feet tall, and straight as the mast before 
him. His bearing betokened self-poise and self- 
restraint, to which superadded was that nameless 
something — call it what you will — that evidenced 
the three full generations required to make a gen- 
tleman. And this was further unconsciously be- 
trayed in a beautiful blending of tone and manner 
into an exquisite courtesy, whether in addressing 
pleasant remarks to myself or in jesting with the old 
negro, who evidently understood and adored “ Mars’ 
Doctah.” 

The face, bronzed by a life in the open, its color 

41 


Etna: of 2ri)omoai 


heightened by the intense blackness of the hair, 
showed a profile clear cut; the nose straight; the 
black eyes lifted under brows not too heavy; the 
chin, clean-shaven, showed a decision and deter- 
mination which was not lacking either in the red 
lips parted over ivory teeth, or a mouth whose chief 
charm lay in an expression of mingled sweetness 
and strength. Altogether it was a face to win con- 
fidence; for one felt instinctively it was the expres- 
sion of a soul so to its own self true, it could not 
thence be false tO' any man. 

I noticed in the hand on the tiller, the same 
combination of firmness with delicacy and refine- 
ment; the strength of a man, with the gentleness 
of a woman. 

“ Look out. Uncle Shadow, you’ll be a ghost as 
well as a shadow,” he called, as the sail, sud- 
denly shifting, just grazed the head of the old 
darkey, who cleverly dodged it. 

“ Ain’t been knocked ovah boad nary time yit. 
Mars’, all dese yers I’se ben a-sailin’,” chuckled 
the old man. 

“ Well, you might go to Davy Jones’s locker 
before you know it; and then what would I do? 
I’d have to make Miss Mabie first mate of the 
Cushla Machree/' laughed the doctor. “ Will you 
42 


C!)e Eiufl: 0f CI)0m0nU 


begin now, Miss Mabie, and take your first lesson 
in navigation, preparatory to succeeding Uncle 
Shadow? All dwellers by Chesapeake waters must 
learn to manage a boat,” he said, placing a rope in 
my hands. 

I was much interested in testing the varying pres- 
sure of the wind on the sails — the line becoming 
taut or slack in my fingers according, as he ex- 
plained, as he steered close to the wind or bore away 
in the long run we had to make before turning to 
reach our landing. Finally we put about. 

“ And now for the home stretch. Are you not 
glad ? ” he said, and his eyes, as he turned to ad- 
just my wraps, startled me as being unlike any eyes 
I had ever seen. Like unfathomed pools, with such 
a soft glow in their depths, yet I had just seen them 
sparkle with merriment. Marvellous eyes they 
were, and although somewhat different, — the left 
being a trifle smaller than the right, with a slight 
cast, — yet this defect seemed to accentuate their 
beauty with a certain individualism rather than to 
detract from it. 

There was a something, too, strangely familiar in 
the whole contour and expression of the face. Some- 
where I had seen it before — but where? I mused 
with my hand trailing in the water, forgetting his 
43 


C!)e Eing: of Cbomoni 


question until his voice roused me with : “ See, we 
are almost there. I know you must be glad.” 

Like Aphrodite newly risen from the waves, the 
island in its full beauty broke upon me. The 
house, built of warm, red brick, with white facings, 
and large Corinthian columns rising to the roof, 
stood high, the walls tapestried with ivy, and roses 
in a mass of color climbing to the floor of the wide 
piazza and around the base of the pillars. Lawns, 
green and well-kept, swept away from the front 
and wings of the building to the water’s edge, 
broken here and there by blooming shrubs, Deutzia, 
Cape jessamine, huge bunches of snow-balls and fra- 
grant magnolia. 

Many noble trees stretched long shadows on the 
beautiful turf — oak, linden, locust, and mulberry; 
a silver-leaved poplar made sharp contrast with a 
grove of fir and pine, and tall Lombardy poplars 
stood like sentinels on guard. The long, level rays 
of the setting sun poured a golden glow over all, 
lighting up the many windows, as if in welcome, 
as, drawing nearer and nearer, our canoe finally 
grounded on the beach, and, alighting, we walked 
slowly over the lawn, toward — home. 

How my pulses quickened at the thought. Was 


44 


2ri)c of ®:i)oinoni[ 


it at last to be mine — a home where there was 
beauty and happiness and love? 

We turned as we reached the steps, spellbound 
by the charm of the hour; the gorgeousness of the 
western sky, the veil of silvery mist already draw- 
ing over the water, the soft plash of the waves on 
the beach, and the happy good-night chirping of 
the birds. 

Unconsciously I murmured under my breath: 

“ The setting sun, and music at the close. 

As the last taste of sweets is sweetest last ; 

Writ in remembrance more than things long past.” 

I turned to meet again that mysterious glow in 
those strange eyes of my companion, and to recog- 
nize the face of the Del Sarto. 

“ The sun sets now, the music we will have later, 
and remembrance of this hour, I trust, always; for 
this is welcome home. Miss Mabie,” he said, as, 
taking my hand, he led me through the wide en- 
trance. 


45 


Chapter VI 


S we entered the hall, an old negro man, 



C/Xbent and wrinkled, with wool snow-white, 
bowed low and spoke with a chuckling heartiness 
pleasant to the ear: 

“ Massa, Fse hyah — Fse hyah, sah.” 

“ That’s you, old man, always on hand,” re- 
turned Doctor O’Brien. 

“ Miss Mabie, this is Uncle Silence, my butler. 
He will show you to your room and will take good 
care of you.” The old negro again bowed low, but 
I could see that he eyed me curiously. 

“ Yes, miss, dis nigger do all he kin fuh yuh. 
Yas’m, Unc’ Silence will. I’ll go see if Uncle 
Shader fotch yo trunk up yit. ’Skuse me, missy, an’ 
please set, an’ I’ll be back in a lil minnit,” and he 
was gone. 

“ Miss Mabie, Uncle Silence puts me to shame 
by his politeness. Will you not be seated ? ” and 
Doctor O’Brien pushed a carved mahogany chair 
toward me. I laughed as I sat down. 

“What odd names. Silence and Shadow!” 


46 


of Ci)omonlJ 


Doctor O’Brien laughed too. “Yes,” he said. 
“ Uncle Silence was named by my grandfather for 
the Country Justice in Henry Fourth. You may 
remember that he was very dull when sober, but 
very gay in his cups. So it is with Uncle Silence. 
He has four celebrations a year — Christmas, Easter 
Monday, Whistling Monday (Whitsuntide), and 
Fourth of July. 

“ Uncle Shadow, the old man you saw in the boat, 
is also named for a character in the same play. 
They are twin brothers, and Shadow, you may have 
noticed, is very thin ; so thin that, as Flagstaff says, 
‘ A foeman might as well level his gun at the edge 
of a penknife.’ Nevertheless, he has a voracious 
appetite. Indeed there is a tradition — and I think 
with some foundation — that he once ate what was 
intended for seven men — all of a small turkey, a 
quarter-peck of potatoes, a head of cabbage, and two 
large apple pies.” 

As I followed the old negro up the broad, wind- 
ing stairway, I paused on the landing, where a tall, 
quaint old clock rang out the quarter chimes, to 
look down into the hall below. The foot of the 
stairway, with its glossy curving banister and carved 
newel post, rested just within an arched way. A 
soft crimson rug extended to the opposite corner, 
47 


of CJomonti 


where was a spacious fireplace, with gleaming 
brasses on hearth and mantel, and above it the por- 
trait of a lady, in which I fancied I saw a resem- 
blance to Doctor O’Brien. 

A deep bay-window, below the landing, opening 
on a veranda, gave to the embrasure the effect of 
a separate apartment — an effect heightened by the 
furnishing. The wall space between window and 
fireplace was fitted with open shelves, holding many 
books, and an antique lamp on a small mahogany 
table, and some odd Louis Quatorze and Roman 
chairs made altogether a cozy corner that suggested 
delightful evenings. 

The polished floor and fretted cornice of the 
main hall caught, through the wide entrance and 
broad, deep-seated windows, the warm sunset glow. 
On quaint mahogany tables, bowls of Canton and 
Nankeen china were heaped high with many tinted 
roses. The glossy white of the wainscoting formed 
a fitting setting for the dead gold frames of full- 
length portraits of beautiful women and courtly 
men — here a Lely and there a Gainsborough — 
that panelled the walls, alternating with doors of 
deep-toned mahogany opening on either side into 
drawing-room, library, and dining-room. Some odd 
weapons and trophies of the chase — antlers, skins, 
48 


Cbe of Cl)omont( 


fox heads, and brushes — also adorned the walls, 
and in one corner was a full suit of armor. 

Upon reaching the second floor, I found myself 
in a small square hall, whose single window looked 
down into the broad piazza, and from this, with 
many doors on either side, narrow corridors, heavily 
carpeted in deep red, extended right and left 
through the building. 

Uncle Silence turned to the right and opened a 
door at the extreme end of the corridor. 

“ Dis is yo’ room, missy. Hope’s yuh’ll like it.” 

Like it! How could I fail to! Such a dainty, 
pretty room — large, square, and low-ceiled, the 
walls, wainscoting, and cornice white, and the floor 
covered with fragrant matting, with here and there 
a gay rug. Draperies of white dimity, edged with 
knotted fringe, decked the four deep-seated win- 
dows, the tester and valance of the great four- 
posted bed standing in an alcove, and even some of 
the same quaint chairs I had noticed in the hall. 
The bed itself was so high that the three steps, 
carpeted in crimson, were really needed to climb to 
where the luxurious pillows and the snowy coverlet, 
already turned back, invited me to rest. The fur- 
niture, all mahogany, was to me as curious as it was 
beautiful. 


49 


Cbe !S.tnff of ®^i)omonli 


Through a half-open door I caught a glimpse of 
a well-lighted closet with bath arrangements, a 
chest of drawers with knobs of cut glass, and a 
wardrobe with bracket and mirror set in the door, 
having candelabra of brass and glass on either side. 
Altogether, compared with my former dormitory, 
a dressing-room for a princess. 

Between the front windows stood an odd combi- 
nation of cabinet and bureau, one-half a long mir- 
ror, with its low dressing-table hardly two feet from 
the floor; the other half composed of small drawers, 
brass-mounted, above which were open shelves filled 
with books, and these again surmounted by the 
closed door of a cabinet with locks and clasped 
hinges of brass, the whole forming a pedestal for 
an exquisite bust of Clytie. Down across the cor- 
ner, near the fire, was a low-cushioned sofa. A 
work-stand, spindle-legged, with drawers and top 
inlaid with lighter wood, matched a writing-desk 
whose dropped lid showed its accessories in massive 
silver. The polished brass of fender and andirons 
reflected the blaze of a light fire freshly kindled on 
the hearth. On the low mantel-shelf an open clock 
in crystal setting ticked a welcome that smiled up to 
me also from the flowers in odd, oblong, box-shaped 
vases of India china, and a beautiful copy of 
SO 


dLht of C!)omontJ 

Murillo’s Madonna drew my gaze upward, as I 
paused in an ecstasy at this my first realization of 
a home. 

Did I like it! I, poor, alone, friendless, unused 
to luxury! Could it be true? 

Pardon me, my dear doctor, for going into details, 
but these things mean so much to me. I have been 
robbed of everything but my memories, — but in 
these I am rich. 

Involuntarily I gave a little cry, and turned to 
see Uncle Silence evidently enjoying my surprise 
and delight. 

“Shall I send Hero to help you dress, missy?” 
he asked. I smiled at the idea of having a dressing- 
maid. 

“ No, thank you, I shall do very well.” 

He slowly loosened the ropes from my trunk, 
talking on in the same rambling fashion. 

“ Missy, dis hyah is a putty room, sho* nuff.” 

“ Yes,” I replied. “ Beautiful.” 

“ It ustah be Miss Geraldine’s room onc’t.” 

“ Who was she? ” I asked. 

“ Why, Mars’ Brian’s sister.” 

“And Mars’ Brian is?” 

“ De doctor, don’ you kno’. Didn’t you nebber 
hyah tell o’ Miss Geraldine? Why, she war 

51 


d)e of CiomoaU 


mighty putty, only she died so young, po’ sweet 
lam’ she war. She had resumption o’ de lungs or 
sumpin’. I nebher could git it zackly straight.” 

“ When did she die? ” I asked, interestedly. 

“ ’Bout ten yer ago.” 

Drawing a rocker to the fire, I had yielded to the 
delightful sense of being at home and free, not real- 
izing that I was gossiping with a negro servant. 
Indeed I had never before been brought into con- 
tact with a servant who seemed to be so a part of a 
household, and to his reminiscence of his young mis- 
tress I listened, too tired to think and too lazy to 
talk. Finally, not without some awkwardness, the 
old man said: “ Missy, if I may mak bold to ax, 
did yuh come hyar fo’ to marry marster, or what 
did yuh come fuh? ” I sprang to my feet in amaze- 
ment. 

“ Why, what do you mean? ” I cried. 

“ Nuttin’, missy, I only axed fuh to kno’.” 

“ Why, your master. Doctor O’Brien, is married. 
I have come here to teach his daughter; I am his 
daughter’s governess.” 

The old man opened his mouth as if to speak, 
paused for a moment, gave me a queer, questioning 
look, walked slowly toward the door, then turned 
and said: 


52 


CJe Eittff of d)om0nli 


Ax’ yo’ pard’n, missy. Didn’t mean no ’fense. 
Please ’sense me. If ye’ wants anything, miss, 
please ring,” indicating the bell-rope. 

He went out slowly, closing the door. I sprang 
to it, bolted it, and dropped half-fainting upon the 
rug, overwhelmed by a something — I could not tell 
what. 

Overwrought and nervous, I, who had never 
known anything of nerves, was overpowered by a 
feeling I could not define. Then I did what a 
woman in trouble almost always does, I had a good 
cry, after which, feeling better, I lighted my candles 
and proceeded to unpack my trunk and to make my 
toilet. 

I chose my white dress, which, fitting well, and 
simply made — low in the neck with a fall of lace 
over the short puffed sleeves — my long mirror as- 
sured me was not unbecoming. 

I took a beautiful red rose from a vase and placed 
it in my hair. I had never dared to do such a thing 
before, but now, liking the effect, I added a cluster 
in the lace on my bosom and several at my belt, and 
I had just finished when Uncle Silence came at 
eight o’clock to call me. 

“My, missy!” he said, “but yuh does look 
sweet. Yuh jes’ do dat, and no mistek.” 

S3 


dLljt of d^omonU 


A hanging-lamp, lighting upper hall and stairway, 
left the corridors in a shadow so weird and mysteri- 
ous, that involuntarily I shuddered as I glanced 
ahead and hastened down the stair. 

As I reached the landing, Doctor O’Brien, stand- 
ing in front of the fireplace, raised his curiously 
brilliant eyes with a look that startled and confused 
me. He came forward to meet me, and as he drew 
my hand through his arm a red rose dropped from 
my bosom. He picked it up, and, first asking my 
permission, which I gave with a strange fluttering 
of my heart, fastened it in his coat as together we 
passed into the dining-room. 

Here the same atmosphere of affluence and of 
good taste was observable in the rare old china, 
glass, and silver on mantel and sideboard, and in 
quaint corner cupboards, as well as in the beau- 
tiful table appointments, which seemed a fitting 
setting for a meal that was to me a veritable ban- 
quet. 

“ Only a Maryland supper,” laughed my host, as 
Uncle Silence deftly served us with delicately fried 
chicken, thinly sliced ham, devilled crabs, biscuit, 
and johnny-cake; luscious strawberries, followed 
with rich cream and cake; and the coffee — which, 
at school, I had never been permitted to touch — 
54 


of S^Jomonli 


was delicious. The table itself was drawn into the 
recess of a deep bay-window, the polished ma- 
hogany, reflecting the light of candles in candel- 
abra, but, to my surprise, covers were laid only for 
two. 

I looked in vain for my hostess, and Doctor 
O’Brien hastened to explain. 

“ I must ask you to excuse my wife, Miss Mabie. 
She is not at all well or she would be here to wel- 
come you. Indeed she rarely comes to table — and 
my daughter is with her.” 

“ What is your little girl’s name ? ” I asked. 

“ Geraldine, after her aunt, my sister. She is 
six years old, and I am afraid very backward for 
her age. Indeed she is somewhat afflicted. She is 
incapable of speaking or moving — infirmities she 
inherits from her mother. I have thought that if 
I introduced some sort of clockwork into her body 
it might assist her somewhat. There is, I believe, 
a future also in electricity, although now its pos- 
sibilities are uncertain and but hinted at. I am 
experimenting, and hope eventually to invent a 
machine that will answer every purpose.” 

He ceased speaking with a peculiar, penetrating 
glance, that chilled my soul with a nameless horror. 
What did he mean? I was ignorant and unsophis- 
55 


d)e of ^I;omoaU 


ticated, but the introduction of clockwork or an 
electrical machine into the body of a six-year-old 
child amazed me. I gazed at Doctor O’Brien in 
silence, as he continued with a laugh: 

“ I see by your face that you do not understand 
me. You will, however, after a while, and I pre- 
dict we shall soon become fast friends.” Then he 
entered into a discussion of the studies he wished 
his daughter to take up. I am sure I must have 
answered incoherently, because I was thinking only 
of the machines, as the meal dragged on. He told 
me that he had agreed to pay me two hundred dol- 
lars a year for my services. I did not tell him that 
my uncle had not mentioned this fact to me, or that 
such a sum was wealth, for still the thought of the 
machines possessed me. Had I gotten into the 
clutches of a madman — of a lunatic? I had heard 
of such, though I had never seen one except on the 
stage. One of the girls at school had told of one 
she had seen loaded with chains. Could it be that 
this handsome, pleasant gentleman was really crazy? 
But no, it was not possible, for he began to talk of 
books and pictures, and I found he had travelled 
far and seen much, and my fears were allayed, until, 
after a time, he rose from the table, saying: “ Now, 
Miss Mabie, if you will excuse me for a moment, 

56 


CJe of CJornontr 


I will see if my wife is ready to receive you.” He 
was gone and I was alone. The handsome clock 
ticked out full ten minutes, which seemed so many 
hours. I had had a long, exciting day after my 
quiet life, and I was only seventeen, you know. At 
last, nervous and troubled, my thoughts again re- 
curring to the machines, I ventured out into the 
•hall, and met him returning. 

He must have noticed my disquietude, for, tak- 
ing me back into the dining-room, he filled a small 
glass with red wine and bade me drink it. At once 
feeling better, I followed, with some trepidation, as 
he silently led the way to the drawing-room, which 
proved as attractive as the other rooms. 

The walls and ceiling were in tw^o tones of red, 
and the chairs, sofas, and divans, all antiques, were 
upholstered in the same color, which was repeated 
in the rugs. 

On the wide mantel-shelf were handsome china 
ornaments, and on a pedestal near the door was a 
statue of the Divine Athena. The half-dozen can- 
dles in silver sconces on the chimneypiece did not 
banish the shadows, but gave to the further end of 
the apartment rather an effect of chiaro oscuro. 

At the extreme end of the room, near a grand 


57 


d)e of 2rf)omonti 


piano, sat a lady, and a little girl in a white dress 
was curled up on a rug beside her. 

“Miss Mabie — my wife and little daughter,” 
said Doctor O’Brien. 

I bowed, and waited for Mrs. O’Brien to speak, 
but no sound issued from her lips. I advanced, but 
she did not move, and as I noticed that both were 
staring with a blank gaze, as if they did not see 
me, I grew confused, and my heart beat loudly. 
Doctor O’Brien, observing my embarrassment, drew 
a chair forward, and as I sank into it I glanced up 
and met the same closely observant expression I 
had noticed before. 

The silence, which seemed to last for hours, was 
finally broken with: “ Do you play. Miss Mabie? ” 
“ No,” I replied. “ Then I will play for you. 
My wife likes music in the evenings; so does my 
little Geraldine. You must be very gentle and 
patient with her. Miss Mabie. Come to papa, 
darling,” he said, and held out his arms; but the 
child did not move, and he leaned forward and 
picked her up and walked down the room with 
her, leaving me seated near Mrs. O’Brien, who still 
did not speak. Looking at her, I saw a handsome 
woman, fair, with yellow hair and staring blue eyes. 
She wore a gown of purple silk. Amethysts spark- 
S8 




led in her ears, and on arms and neck, and a 
brooch of the same lovely gems caught the lace of 
her bodice. I ventured a remark that the evenings 
had grown chill. Silence! Then I said I hoped 
Geraldine would like me. No response! I asked 
if she had ever been to school. Still no reply, and 
it was a relief when Doctor O’Brien, who was at 
the farther end of the room, talking softly to his 
little daughter, came back, placed her by her mother, 
and went to the piano. 

He was a true musician, and, as with wonderful 
touch he revealed to me the beauties of Schubert 
and Beethoven, of Chopin and Mozart, I listened 
for over an hour, charmed and entranced. Finally, 
he turned, saying, “ You must be very tired. Miss 
Mabie, and perhaps would like to retire?” I rose 
to thank him and to say good night to Mrs. O’Brien. 
She sat as immovable as Memnon’s statue — barring 
its exceptional behavior in the early morning — 
as white and still as the figure of Minerva 
by the door. As I stepped forward, my foot slipped, 
and I tripped, falling against Mrs. O’Brien, and 
pushing her over. Overcome with embarrassment 
at my awkwardness, I stooped to assist her. Doctor 
O’Brien sprang forward to intercept me, but I was 
before him, and with one scream — long, loud, and 
59 


d)c of STl^omonti 


piercing — I realized that I held in my arms, not 
a living, breathing woman, but a wax figure — a 
great wax doll. Then everything grew black before 
me, and I lost consciousness. 


/ 


6o 


Chapter VII 


/ "ROUSED to find myself on the sofa in my 
own room, with old Uncle Silence bending over 
me. “ Is yuh bettah, honey? ” he asked, in a kind, 
anxious tone. 

“Yes, oh, yes! But how dreadful!” and I hid 
my face in my hands, shuddering, as it all came 
back to me. “ Now, deary, yuh jes’ drink dis hyah,” 
and he held a glass of iced wine to my parched lips. 
It was cool, refreshing, delicious. 

“ Now, ye mus’ git tuh bed regalah,” and the 
old man proceeded to undress me as gently as if 1 
were a baby, and I accepted his offices. My efforts 
to engage him in conversation were fruitless. To 
every question he either returned only a monosylla- 
ble, or gave no reply, and finally, having tucked 
me carefully into bed, he blew out the candles, 
with: 

“ Now shet yo’ eyes, missy, and jest go sleep.” 
His tone was soft and caressing, as if he were talk- 
ing to a child, but when, the room quite dark, he 
turned at last to go, “ One moment, please,” I 

6i 


Cl)e of (JD^monti 


said, “ are those people all wax? ” “ Yes, bress yo’ 
life, honey, jes’ nuttin’ but big wax dawls. Good 
night, missy,” and he was gone. 

Immediately I got up, groped my way to the 
door, shot the small brass bolt, its only fastening, 
and climbed back into bed. I tried to sleep, but 
sleep would not come ; I lighted a candle and tried 
to read my Bible, but could not concentrate my 
thoughts; I tried to pray, but with no better suc- 
cess. My thoughts would not obey my will. I felt 
as if I had lived years since the morning. Now and 
again the furniture would crack, and I would spring 
up in bed and listen and listen until my ears rang 
and I thought my head would burst. I could hear 
the patter of the rats and mice as they ran through 
the walls; they seemed to be holding high carnival. 
I could only think, think, think, think of the wax 
people in the drawing-room. With a sense of suf- 
focation I ran to first one window and then another, 
and leaned far out. The night was dark, and the 
moon low in the sky, and the twinkling stars gave 
but little light. The air was filled with a delicious 
sweetness of mingled roses, mignonette, and the 
blossoms of the linden-trees, and I drank in long, 
greedy breaths of the perfume. I could just discern 
here and there a large tree rising dark, still and 
62 


C!)e Uixi% of d)omoTili 


solemn. I could hear the plash of waves on the 
shore, and now and then the tinkle of a banjo and 
the croon of a song — queer and weird. 

As the night wore on, a strong curiosity possessed 
me to see the wax figures again. Why not ? 
Strangely excited and frightened, my desire was yet 
greater than my fear. I lit a candle and looked at 
the clock. The hands pointed to three. Slipping 
quickly into my slippers and wrapper, I opened the 
door, paused to listen, and, hearing no sound, I 
picked up my candle and softly and quickly walked 
down the passage; pausing again to listen when I 
reached the staircase, I walked boldly down. 

The drawing-room door was open, and I entered. 
At once my eyes sought the spot where the wax 
group stood, and, as a bird drawn by a charmer, I 
drew near. My heart and pulses were beating, and 
I could almost hear the blood coursing through my 
veins, as I set down my candle on the floor and 
touched the cheek of the doll that Doctor O’Brien 
called wife. It was cold as a corpse, and I shivered. 
I examined minutely both figures; they were very 
beautiful, but in looking at them I felt an instinctive 
sense of repulsion. My curiosity satisfied, I turned 
to go, only to see Doctor O’Brien enter the door in 
bath-robe and slippers. For an instant I was para- 
63 


®!)e Einff of ®:i)omon5 


lyzed with the fear of detection, but quickly blowing 
out my candle, I sought refuge behind the piano. 
On he came, with a lighted candle in his hand, with 
wide-open eyes looking straight before him. In- 
stinctively I knew that he was walking in his sleep. 
Placing his candle on the piano behind which I was 
crouching, he took the large doll in his arms with 
words of endearment and caressing tones. “ Did she 
knock my darling down? Never mind, my own. 
See, so I kiss the hurt and so extract the pain?” 
Then he kissed her many times. After about ten 
minutes, he quickly walked from the room, I fol- 
lowing at a safe distance, almost afraid that the 
throbbing of my heart would awaken him. Reach- 
ing the upper floor, he turned to the left, and soon 
I heard a door close behind him, as I ran swiftly 
and noiselessly to my room, secured my door, and, 
throwing myself on the bed, again made a vain 
effort to sleep. A breeze had sprung up, there was 
a murmur among the trees, and the waves sounded 
louder on the beach, but the sound of the singing 
and the banjo had ceased. 

When at last I fell into a fitful slun)ber, it was 
only to dream, and such a dream! Long ago as it 
was, I can recall every incident. I could see the 
wax figures moving about and talking — and I was 
64 


d)c JS-ing: of d)omanti 


with them. Presently Doctor O’Brien came in 
with two hatchets, and, giving me one, told me to 
strike, and together we proceeded to demolish them, 
until, when they lay in atoms at our feet, I fainted. 
Then the scene shifted, and I saw Doctor O’Brien 
lying in a tent, and I was kneeling by his side with 
his head in my arms. 

I awoke with a start, as day was breaking and 
the morning star was fading. It was the first hush 
of dawn. Over the water a silver veil seemed to 
rise, and far out on the verge of the horizon was 
a line of clearest amethyst, which, changing to pal- 
est rose, deepened and deepened as the day drew 
on, until the east glowed like the cheek of some fair 
young girl. I watched from my pillows the opal 
mists fade as the diamond dewdrops on the lawn 
caught and threw back the golden rays of the rising 
sun ; and at last, lulled by the song of birds, in the 
midst of all the glory, and beauty, and sweetness, 
and fragrance of the new-born day, I slept again. 

The sun was shining brightly through the wide- 
open windows when I awoke. My mind instantly 
reverted to the experiences of the previous night, 
and I shuddered at the thought of what was before 
me. Indeed, to be shut off on an island with a 
madman, two wax figures, and two old negro men, 

65 


dLht lliaa: of CJomonti 

would have brought terror to a braver heart than 
mine. 

I sprang out of bed, took a cold sponge bath, 
dressed quickly — this time donning my pink organ- 
die — and hastened down-stairs. No signs of life 
were visible as I peeped into the dining-room, where 
the table was again laid for two, with a large bunch 
of pink roses at my plate. Shudderingly I looked 
into the parlor, where, with shades close drawn, the 
wax woman and child sat in the gloom. Out on 
the wide piazza I breathed more freely, and soon 
forgot all in the entrancing scene, which was even 
more beautiful now than on the evening before. 
The faintest breath of morning swayed the leaves, 
spreading a tapestry of mingled light and shadow 
on the beautiful turf far down to the silvery beach, 
where the incoming tide broke in sparkling waves, 
crested with foam. Beyond, the limitless blue of 
the water stretched far away to its meeting with 
the turquoise sky. Above, the gulls swirled to and 
fro, and here and there a kingfisher sailed grace- 
fully, or poised before making a rapid dart into 
the wave for its breakfast. 

From the steps at the end of the piazza, along 
the garden wall, half-hidden under a mass of grace- 
ful, clinging vines — ivy, Virginia creeper, honey- 
66 


^!)e of ^j)om0al( 


suckle, and clematis — a narrow pathway invited 
me to investigate beyond gates whose high posts 
were surmounted by boxes of nasturtiums and 
petunias. The garden, “ L ’’-shaped, ran across the 
end and along the back of the house; wide, well- 
kept grass walks extended through the middle. A 
quaint sun-dial of antique bronze accentuated the 
angle of meeting, and the beauty of the close- 
clipped grass was heightened by contrast with the 
brilliant flower borders on either side, where carna- 
tions and sweet-william, marigold and verbena, 
mignonette, johnny- jump-ups and bachelor’s-but- 
ton, and the many-colored phlox were massed and 
backed by a low hedge of box, and this again by 
high bushes of magnolia, althea, flowering almond, 
Scotch broom, and the fragrant purple shrub and 
roses of every tint — pink, crimson, white, and 
yellow. Between the hedge and the house, against 
which hollyhocks and brilliant petunias lifted their 
heads, the low flowers were repeated in endless pro- 
fusion, in beds bordered with box, and laid out in 
odd shapes — diamonds, Maltese crosses, triangles, 
etc., presenting to the windows a mass of color and 
perfume. On the farther side were the vegetable 
and strawberry beds, gooseberry, raspberry, and cur- 
rant bushes, the hotbeds being at the lower end, 
67 


Cbc i&ing: of gDbomonU 


near the kitchen, where the old-fashioned herbs — 
sage, parsley, and thyme — grew close to the shel- 
tering wall. I had never dreamed of such a garden, 
and, lost in its beauty, unconsciously I repeated 
from “The Winter’s Tale:” 

“ ‘ The climate’s delicate ; the air most sweet ; 
Fertile the Isle.’ ” 

Almost immediately. Doctor O’Brien’s voice an- 
swered : 

“ ‘ The paradise of Irem this ... 

A garden more surpassing fair 
Than that before whose gate 
The lightning of the cherub’s fiery sword 
Waves wide, to bar access.’ ” 

I turned to find him smiling down upon me, his 
wonderful eyes aglow. 

“You are right. Miss Mabie; so is Shakespeare, 
and so is Southey,” he continued. 

“ Are the lines you just quoted by him? ” I asked. 

“Yes, from ‘ Talaba the Destroyer.’ The Gar- 
den of Irem is spoken of in the Koran. It was laid 
out for a King of Ad, named Shedad, and was the 
most beautiful of all earthly paradises. But when 
it was finished, the death-angel struck it with the 
68 


/ 


CI)e l^ing: of ®I)omouU 


lightning-wand, and it was never again visible to 
human beings.” 

“ I hope nothing of that kind will ever happen to 
your garden.” 

“ I hope not,” he replied, in a musing tone, “ but 
who knows — who can tell ? ” 

He made no reference to the past evening, nor 
did I. Indeed with his coming all its horror had 
vanished, and, thinking only of the present delight, 
I exclaimed : “ How beautiful your home is. Doctor 
O’Brien.” 

“Yes, beautiful. I love it dearly,” he said, as, 
looking at me intently, he turned away. I wan- 
dered from one flower to another, and then turning, 
retraced my steps to where he stood with head bent 
down, in a reverie, from which he roused as I 
approached. 

“ I am glad you like Thomond, Miss Mabie. It 
is beautiful at all seasons — spring, summer, 
autumn, and winter. I hope you will remain with 
us for a long time. My wife, although she says 
nothing, has taken such a fancy to you. She is a 
great invalid, and is very often ill.” 

“ Has she been an invalid for long? ” I asked, 
falling into his mood. 

“ For eight years,” he replied. Then, as I re- 
69 


C!)e of 0^!)omoiit( 


mained silent, he said : “ This garden was laid out 

by my grandfather, Turloch O’Brien, and his wife 
Clare. Come, I will show you where they sleep,” 
and he led me to where a low postern gate opened 
into a small cemetery — a green space enclosed by 
a high hedge of privet and holly-trees, whose dark, 
glossy leaves half-concealed, half-revealed the beau- 
tiful scarlet berries. Overshadowing two graves, a 
large granite cross surmounted a square monolith, 
on which was carved a coat of arms. Three lions 
passant; the crest, an arm issuing from a cloud 
bearing a sword. Beneath it the motto : Lamh 
laidir an nachtar!* I carefully spelled it out, and 
asked Doctor O’Brien the translation. 

“ It is early Irish, and has various translations, 
but the one I like best is ‘ The Strong Hand Upper- 
most.’ ” 

There were many headstones showing only names, 
which interested me much. Eileen; Lilah; Ger- 
aldine; Bride; Beryl; Moira; Nora; Clare; 
Doreen; Myles; Lucius; Murrough; Turloch; 
Brien; Connor; Leige; Dermot; Donough. 

“ Why,” I exclaimed; “ these are all Irish names, 
except those that are not ! ” 

“ Why, yes,” replied Doctor O’Brien, quizzically, 
“ O’Brien is hardly Italian or Spanish.” 

70 


QLht of ^()omottK 


I was confused, and blushed, but he continued, 
good-naturedly : 

“Yes, we are Irish. Why, do you know that 
over one-third of Washington’s army was composed 
of Irishmen or Irishmen’s sons; and Washington’s 
own adopted son, Custis, in his memoirs says: ‘ Ire- 
land furnished one hundred men to one furnished 
by any other foreign nation to Washington’s army.’ 
Yes, we are Irish, and are proud of it. Perhaps 
you would like to hear the history of my family, 
and, as you are now one of us, I will begin at the 
beginning: 

“ ‘ Once upon a time,’ — in the words of the 
stories we love, — I think about the year 1794, 
but I am a little hazy in dates, Edward Augustus, 
Duke of Kent, — the fourth son of ‘ Farmer 
George ’ Third, — the father of the present Queen 
Victoria, came to America as governor of Nova 
Scotia. He brought with him a large suite, com- 
posed principally of younger sons of greatly impov- 
erished, but noble, families. 

“ In this entourage was my grandfather, Turloch 
O’Brien, the duke’s personal friend. He fell in 
love with a young Nova Scotian, and when the 
duke returned to England, he remained behind, and 


71 


CN i^ing: of d)oinontr 


married, and my father was a younger son of this 
family of American O’Briens. 

“ Our ancestors were the ancient kings of Ire- 
land, and we are descended from the royal line of 
Thomond — a race of kings and princes. 

“ Brian Boroihme, our great progenitor, began to 
reign in I002, and was killed at the battle of Clon- 
tarf in 1014. His grandson, Turloch, or Turlogh, 
was made King of Munster and principal King of 
Ireland. He died leaving four sons: Leige, Mor- 
togh, Donough, and Dermot. 

‘‘ Dermot became King of Munster, and from 
him was descended Connor O’Brien, who, inaugu- 
rated King of Thomond in 1528, died in 1540. His 
legal heir, Donough, was set aside, and a younger 
son, Murrough, occupied the throne. But Connor 
was the last King of Thomond who exercised the 
functions of royalty, and Murrough, surrendering 
his kingdom to Henry Eighth, was made Earl of 
Thomond for life. 

“ Other titles have been given the O’Brien fam- 
ily as compensation: Baron of Inchequin; Earl of 
Inchequin; Baron Tadcaster; Marquis of Tho- 
mond ; Baron of Thomond. We are descended 
from Donough, — the one set aside, — and there- 
fore can claim no title. 


72 


Cbe Eing; of CbomonTi 


“ My grandfather, after the departure of his 
royal friend and patron, found Nova Scotia too 
small and Halifax too dull, so he drifted down into 
the States, and finally to Baltimore, where, learning 
of this island, fancy led him to establish a new Erin 
in a new world; so he bought this place and laid 
it out as you see, naming it ‘ Thomond.’ 

“ He was called the ‘ King of Thomond,’ as was 
my father and also myself. The negroes and many 
of the whites always speak of us as the kings of 
Thomond, partly in derision, but often, I think, 
using it as a term of affection. There you have our 
story, and we are a queer lot.” 

My experience was limited, but, if he were a 
sample, I agreed with him. 

“ Well,” he continued, “ I am the last — the 
very last, except, of course, my daughter. But 
come, it is breakfast-time, let us go in,” and silently 
we walked toward the house. The man fascinated 
while he repelled me, and again I was disquieted. 

We were met at the porch by a little negro boy 
of about ten years. His black wool, twisted with 
white thread, stood out like innumerable horns. 
His one garment was a long smock of blue domes- 
tic, falling from neck to ankles, showing his bare 
feet, girded at the waist with a rope, and with slits 
73 


d)e of CbomonU 


through which the arms were thrust. His skin was 
jet-black — a hue that one now rarely sees among 
the negroes. His eyes, bright and black, were 
crossed, his full lips very red, and his nose flat. 
In fact he was a true Guinea negro. He stood like 
a statue until we approached him, w;hen, taking his 
skirt in his two hands, he bobbed a curtsey, saying, 
“ Massa’ ’Brian, brekus’ is sarved fuh yuh’sef. King 
Thomond, and de young miss,” and, following us 
into the dining-room, he took his station behind 
Doctor O’Brien’s chair, armed with a huge fly- 
brush of peacock feathers. 

The breakfast was but little less elaborate than 
had been the supper: an omelette, fresh fish, fried 
chicken, jams galore, waffles, hot pone, hot biscuit, 
and coffee. 

The doctor apologized for the non-appearance of 
his wife, saying that, with the exception of himself, 
they all rose late, and that both mother and daugh- 
ter breakfasted in their own rooms. All this with- 
out the slightest allusion to what to me was the 
tragedy of the previous evening. 

I enjoyed the breakfast, but even more — the 
way it was served : the fine napery, beautiful silver, 
and glass and dainty china; and Uncle Silence, who 
waited on us, certainly merited his name. It seemed 
74 


CJe of Cf)omantJ 


as if I had always been used to luxurious living such 
as this, and, a child of a day, I looked neither for- 
ward nor behind. 

Breakfast over. Doctor O’Brien rose with: “If 
you will excuse me, I will see at what time it will 
be convenient for my little girl to receive her first 
lesson, and will advise you later,” and then, as he 
turned to go, he added, anxiously: “ I am sure you 
will be very patient with my Geraldine — will you 
not. Miss Mabie? ” 

Too surprised to speak, I bowed my head in 
reply. 

“ Come,” he said, and, obeying his motion, the 
negro boy followed him from the room. 

I sat where he had left me for some time, pon- 
dering what I should do. Should I leave Thomond, 
where could I go? With no home, no friends, no 
money except a few pennies, and no experience, to 
whom could I apply? No, no matter what hap- 
pened, I would stay and brave it out. After all 
I could but die, and life had not been so sweet that 
I viewed that as unmitigated ill, nor had I realized 
that there are things far worse than death. 

Suddenly the little “ nig ” stood before me, with 
a card in his hand: “ Fum de king,” he said. It 
ran: 

75 


®I)e of Cbomonti 


“ Miss Mabie : If agreeable to you, will you 
meet Geraldine in the library daily, at eleven 
o’clock? I would suggest that the lessons be not 
continued longer than three hours, and for the rest 
of the day, consider yourself disengaged. 

“ Yours, 

“ Brian O’Brien.” 

A glance at the clock showed me it was then 
10.30; so I went to my room, but had hardly closed 
the door when there came a tap, and, in answer to 
my summons, in walked the little negro boy. We 
gazed at each other in silence for a minute, and 
then he said: 

“ I’se Hero.” 

“ Why, that is a girl’s name.” 

“ Yes, miss, I know. Mom had ten daughters, 
an’ I was ’leben, an’ when I was bornd, she kinder 
run out o’ names. But she got so in de habit of 
callin’ gals’ names, dat she up an’ ax’ Miss Geral- 
dine to git her a nice gal’s name fur me, dat sound 
like a boy’s. Den Miss Geraldine tell her ’bout 
a man name Lander, dat swum ’cross hell ebery 
night to see a girl named Hero. Mom, she didn’t 
like Lander, ’cause it sounded like Zander, an’ dat 
war her fust husband’s name, but she liked Hero, 
76 


of Cbomonli 


’cause it sounded kind o’ manny; so she name me 
dat. She uster wonder if Lander saw dat Zander 
when he was a-swimmin’ in dat hot water. Mus’ 
a bin awful hot swimmin’. I fell inter de hot suds 
onct. My golly; but I’ll nebber forget it neder.” 

Surely this was a new version of Hero and Lean- 
der. 

He continued his monologue. 

“ I clum de highest tree on de lawn yistiddy. I 
jes’ want to see yuh befo’ de od’er niggers did. 
Unc Bedfoot, de old nigga dat tends de bosses, says 
you’se a Yankee, and I want ’o see what dat war. 
But bress my sold, yuh don’ look no diffrunt aftah 
all ; jes’ like de rest ob de white ladies — only 
you’se puttiah.” 

“ Unc Cotton, he say dat you had de kloven foot, 
and a long hary tail sticken’ out from undah yo’ 
dress, an’ twisted horns. Unc Pompey, he say dat 
yuh had green har like de mermaidings. I fought 
you’d hab a gold ring in yo’ nose fo’ sho. But I 
mighty glad yo’ ain’t. 

“ See my cock-eye? Dat’s ’cause Surajah — dat’s 
de king’s dog — play wif my eye when I wos a 
baby. Niggas warn’t nebber made fur puppy dogs 
to play wif. 

‘‘ Say, miss,” he continued, “ does yo’ know 

77 


0^!)e lltnff of Cbomonti 


you’se de only ’oman on dis place? My mom was 
de last one, and she runned away. Now master 
had on’st men in de qua’tahs. Dah’s five on de 
farm, and deys all free niggas. De old king sot all 
his niggas free, and den he hired ’em agin. All 
de women left, and all de men, ’cept ten and me. 

“Now dere’s Unc Silence, de butler; Unc 
Shadow, de boatman; Unc Cotton, de cook; Unc 
Bedfoot, de hostler; Unc Pompey, de chambermaid 
and washer, and Ben, Sam, Stoke, Columbus, and 
Tony, de fahm hands. Dey all lib dah in de 
qua’tahs,” and Hero pointed through the window, 
where I could see a group of whitewashed cabins 
in the distance. 

Just then the clock struck eleven, and I asked 
Hero to show me to the library. It was a large, 
pleasant room, adjoining the dining-room, its two 
windows opening on the piazza. The walls were 
lined with low cases of books, many in rich bind- 
ings, and all within easy reach; and above hung 
pictures in both water-color and oil. Chairs and 
tables, — Chippendale and Sheratin, — leather-cov- 
ered, were scattered about, and the wide fireplace 
held logs ready for lighting. 

In one of the deep chairs close to a window’, 
beside a table on which were writing materials and 

78 


Cj)e of Ciomonli 


school-books, sat the wax child doll, — Geraldine, 
— dressed now in a lilac gingham. For a minute 
I stood paralyzed at the complexity of the situation. 
Then I laughed; then I cried, and then I went 
over and took the doll in my arms, when something 
swept through me. It must have been the strong 
mother instinct latent in every woman. After I 
had “ wept my little weep ” I dried my eyes, re- 
freshed and ready to think it all out. Yes, I would 
remain for a month at least, and work out my free- 
dom and carve out my own fate. 

After a time, opening a volume of Byron, I was 
soon immersed in “ Childe Harold.” The rhythm 
fascinated me, and I began to read aloud. Next 
I found myself studying with globe and map some 
of the places mentioned, with which I was not 
familiar. Then I got a dictionary and went to 
work, and later, taking up a slate and pencil, I gave 
Geraldine a lesson in arithmetic. Thus interested, 
the dinner-hour surprised me, and I found that I 
had spent a very profitable morning, and I ran to 
my room to brush my hair and tidy up for the meal. 


79 


Chapter VIII 


TXTHEN I entered the dining-room, Doctor 
y O’Brien was in his place waiting for me. 

“ Well, Miss Mabie, how did the morning go? ” 
he asked. 

“ Very pleasantly,” I answered. 

“ Are you tired ? ” 

“ No! Not at all.” 

“ Were you patient with my little girl, and was 
she attentive?” he asked, looking me straight in 
the eyes. 

“ She was as quiet as if she were made of wax,” 
I replied, “ and she was very good.” 

“ Ah,” he replied, confusedly, “ that is good. I 
hope you will spare no pains with her, and that you 
may mould her into as charming a woman as her 
teacher.” 

I made no reply, and he resumed after a short 
pause : 

“ Mrs. O’Brien, as I have told you before, is 
very delicate, and not equal to the excitement of 
punishing Geraldine. I hope when she needs cor- 
8o 


C!)e of Cl^omonii 


rection you will not hesitate to administer it with- 
out consulting her or me,” and, as we finished din- 
ner, he asked : “ Are you happy ? ” 

“ Doubtless I shall be,” I replied, evasively, ris- 
ing and moving toward the door, which he, bowing 
courteously, opened for me. 

No longer oppressed by indecision, my heart was 
light, and unconsciously I sang aloud, as I ascended 
the stairs. Doctor O’Brien called me back to com- 
pliment me on my voice, and, finding that I really 
knew nothing of music, he offered to teach me, and 
together we entered the drawing-room, where the 
wax wife no longer presided, and he gave me my 
first lesson on the piano. Then he proposed a sail, 
and sauntering down to the beach, we entered the 
boat and soon we were floating between sea and 
sky. 

A perfect June day was present in air and sky and 
water, and yielding to its charm, I lay back on the 
cushions and dreamed and dreamed, not attempting 
conversation. Now and again we would pass a 
fisherman or would catch the refrain of some negro 
melody, as the oystermen plied their tongs. The sun 
was setting as we turned toward home, and Doc- 
tor O’Brien, picking up a guitar, sang as I believed 
he alone could sing. His voice was a light bari- 

8i 


Cl)e of CJornonti 


tone, and his song I can never forget — a song 
whose beauty and simplicity, tender words and rip- 
pling measure, will linger with me always: 

“ Now sunlight dies, and over 
The valley reigns delight. 

And happy is the lover 
That wanders there to-night : 

For ev’ry heart uncloses 
And old and young arise. 

To hail the feast of roses 
And bless it as it flies. 

“ No sound is heard but pleasure, 

No echo on the gale, 

But music’s varied measure 
Along that happy vale ; 

For all that sense can covet. 

Each joy that earth can show, 

Is lavished there to prove it 
The brightest spot below. 

“ ’Tis said the world before us 
Is one continued flow 
Of joy with those that love us. 

Perhaps it may be so : 

But if this earth discloses 
Delights unknown elsewhere, 

’Tis at the feast of roses 
Within thy vale. Cashmere.” 

82 


d)e of CJomonU 


That evening I wore my blue dress, fastening 
some white roses in my hair, and when I reached 
the hall. Doctor O’Brien, meeting me as before, 
said, as he led me to the dining-room : “ My wife 
and daughter will be with us at supper this eve- 
ning.” 

A chill came over me — a cold presentiment 
of coming ill. There, in very truth, on either side 
sat the two wax figures, and my seat was at the 
head of the table. Silently I took it, and as silently 
was served, while Doctor O’Brien, passing lightly 
from one topic to another, entertained me so de- 
lightfully, that his strange family might for once 
have been mere table ornaments. In fact my atten- 
tion was completely diverted from them, until the 
fruit was served. My host had gradually fallen 
into a fit of abstraction, when I was suddenly 
startled by a voice, soft and low, apparently issuing 
from the lips of the wax woman. “ It has been a 
lovely day. Miss Mabie. I hope you enjoyed your 
boat-ride.” I glanced at Doctor O’Brien, but he 
was evidently just then talking to the doll — Ger- 
aldine. Uncle Silence and Hero had left the room. 
Could my ears have deceived me, or was I, too, 
going mad ? The thought was unbearable. I said : 
“Doctor O’Brien, did you speak?” Before he 

83 


CJe of CJomonti 


could reply, the voice broke in: “No, he did not. 
It was 1.” 

I started in terror; the dainty cut-glass goblet I 
let fall was broken to atoms, but all unheeded by 
me, for I heard only: “You clumsy girl, to break 
my beautiful glass! ” 

Doctor O’Brien, now leaning back in his chair, 
with his eyes fixed on the ceiling, seemed to hear 
nothing. “Doctor O’Brien!” I called. He took 
no notice. 

Again I spoke. Still no reply. The third time 
I raised my voice. “ Doctor O’Brien ! ” He 
started. “Yes, Miss Mabie!” 

“ Doctor O’Brien, what does all this mean ? I 
am terrified beyond expression. Tell me who was 
speaking just now. It is all so strange and I am 
so frightened.” He rose and came to me with an 
awakened look in his beautiful eyes and a tender 
pathos in his voice, that recalled the midnight scene 
in the drawing-room. 

“ I am so sorry. I did not mean it, believe me. 
I have lived so long alone with my family, who are 
mutes, you know, that we carry on regular conver- 
sations — I am something of a ventriloquist. But 
believe me, I spoke just now unthinkingly, from 
mere force of habit, forgetting that you did not 
84 


Cl^e of CJomoaU 


understand. Indeed I could not willingly frighten 
or annoy you.” Then he added, gently, as though 
talking to a child, or to a patient with all his pro- 
fessional instincts aroused: “Your hands are quite 
cold. Drink this,” and, as before, he put a glass 
of wine to my lips. 

“ Now let us go into another room, and you will 
soon feel better.” He led me into the drawing- 
room, and, placing me in a chair beside a window 
overlooking the moonlit garden, he went to the 
piano, playing softly, filling the twilight with deli- 
cious harmonies, so soothing that I forgot every- 
thing, until I roused to find him again beside me. 

“Miss Mabie, I fear that I have wronged you 
in not explaining more clearly the duties you were 
to undertake. Not only as governess to my daugh- 
ter, but as companion to two mutes, and a lonely 
man; sometimes, I think, the loneliest man in all 
the world. It was all in my mind apparently so 
simple and so easy, that I did not realize you would 
find any difficulties.” 

“ But, Doctor O’Brien,” I interrupted, “ I am 
terrified and annoyed. I do not understand. I 
thought — ” 

“Yes — I know — I see now how impossible it 
was for you to understand my peculiar position; 

85 


CJe of CbomonU 


and yet — had I explained — perhaps you would 
never have come. And what a misfortune that 
would have been to us all. For even in the short 
time that you have been with us, we feel that your 
loss would be irreparable. My wife, as I told you, 
is much pleased with you. I believe you will be 
everything to Geraldine, and to me your companion- 
ship will atone for years of loneliness and sorrow. 
This was the hope in mind in making our engage- 
ment, and your coming has more than fulfilled that 
hope. But that I should have occasioned your dis- 
tress by my lack of frankness pains me deeply, and 
I earnestly beg your forgiveness.” 

With an instinctive feeling that back of seeming 
contradictions there was a sincere manhood, and, 
moreover, that the speaker was every inch a gentle- 
man, I forgot all anomalies and accepted what he 
said. And so, overpowered by the magnetic influ- 
ences of the hour, we drifted into mutual confi- 
dences that revealed two lives unspeakably barren 
and lonely, brought into strange juxtaposition. 

“ Really, Miss Mabie,” he said, when he heard 
my story, “ I cannot but think it fortunate that 
greater definiteness should not have prevented your 
coming. You are homeless and dependent upon 
your own exertions. I have a home which needs 
86 


(ZCj)e of C^onionti 


just such a one as you to lighten its sadness and to 
bring joy to those who sit in shadow. Although 
I engaged you as a governess for my daughter, I 
am equally in need of a companion; and then you 
are my pupil, you know, so that an extension of 
duties will, I trust, be to your advantage. Do not 
leave me, I implore you. Give me, I pray you, this 
opportunity for the reparation I feel 1 owe you, 
and believe that no brother, nor your uncle himself, 
could be a more scrupulous protector than I pledge 
myself to be. Now that you know all, will you 
not trust me. Miss Mabie?” 

Courtesy, honesty, and intense pleading were all 
mingled in tone and manner, which could not have 
been more deferential had he been addressing a 
princess; and somehow it must have impressed me 
that he recognized in the situation all the majesty 
of a simple, unprotected womanhood. 

And what did I know of worldly conventions? 
We were as completely isolated as were the first 
man and woman in the primeval Eden; and more- 
over, if once closed upon me this paradise, with its 
only friend, before me was the black world and 
strangers again. 

“ I trust 5^ou, Doctor O’Brien, and I will stay,” 
I said. 


87 


d)e IS-inff of CI)om0nli 


“ Thank you,” he replied, and, rising, he went 
again to the piano. Oh! the infinite peace of that 
hour, as symphony and song succeeded one another 
in the now moonlit room. Eve’s lamentation with 
its sad refrain, “ How can I leave thee. Paradise,” 
seemed an expression of my own soul. 

Yes, I would stay, even though there was much 
I could not understand; and to that enveloping 
sense of protection and home was added one yet 
sweeter and so deliciously new — the assurance of 
being necessary to another’s happiness. 

It had been an exciting day, and, too tired to 
think, I climbed up to my soft pillows, and, with 
the abandonment of childhood, forgot all in a 
dreamless slumber, until bright sunlight roused me 
to another day and the silvery chimes of the clock 
on the stair warned me of the breakfast-hour. 


88 


Chapter IX 


/ WANT to show you our quaint old town in 
its Sunday garb, Miss Mabie,” said Doctor 
O’Brien, as we lingered over our late breakfast the 
next morning. “ Chestertown is one of the oldest 
towns in Maryland; its foundations were laid by 
Cecil Calvert, — Lord Baltimore, you know, — and 
it was to have been a port of entry, but even in 
those days they found the Chester River was filling 
up, and the project was abandoned. So the old 
town fell asleep over two hundred years ago, and 
has slumbered on ever since. 

“ Service is at eleven o’clock, and, as it is a good 
hour and a half sail, we should start at once. Will 
you go? ” 

“ I’ll be ready in a few moments,” I replied, and, 
making a hasty toilet, I joined him on the beach, 
and we were soon under way. The wind was fair 
and the ride seemed short, as Doctor O’Brien enter- 
tained me with interesting stories of the town and 
neighborhood ; soon we sailed into the Chester 
River, and rounding a curve, the quaint old river- 
89 


Sting: of 


side town lay before us. The low shore-lines, 
through which the river loiters on its tranquil, 
placid way, were of varied green, the tints beauti- 
fully toned and softened. Lilies, white and yellow, 
and purple flags, cat-tails, and water-bush grew 
along its edge, and our speed was impeded as we 
glided onward by various seaweed and long, 
waving grasses. 

The water was warm, and the air redolent with 
the scent of magnolia, wild rose, and honeysuckle. 
Soon we reached “ Scotch Point,” w^here the river 
curves — like the Bay of Naples, Doctor O’Brien 
said — and the crest of the low bluff was covered 
with neat little negro cabins. We sailed past a 
wharf and grain warehouses, where the schooners 
were at anchor, and where many negroes, half-clad, 
lay basking in the warm June sun. 

Standing back with its garden sloping to the 
water’s edge was a great villa built in the Italian 
style. Further on was a meadow half-submerged, 
across the street from which stood the old Pearce 
house, built of brick brought from England, the 
white walls half-covered with ivy, its porch sup- 
ported by massive pillars, and its long garden wall, 
above which towered great trees — a garden which 
was said to be a dream of beauty. Next was a 

90 


Cbe llinfl: at d)om(inti 


quaint house of a story and a half, the school of 
Miss Josie Redue. Close to the second wharf, 
where we anchored, was another large brick build- 
ing, the original counting-house of the earliest mer- 
chants of the place, and now a home. 

Leaving Uncle Silence in charge of the boat, we 
strolled up High Street, which was long and irreg- 
ular, the pavements so poorly laid that we walked 
with difficulty, past quaint, colonial houses, one with 
an imposing entrance — a wide gateway with tall 
gate-posts; then on through the business portion of 
the town, where the shops, fast closed, gave the 
impression of a deserted village; on to the village 
green, with the big, ugly, pretentious hotel at one 
end, the court-house standing back in solitary dig- 
nity at one side. And so we came to the church, 
which stood in an angle; its low tower and walls 
of red brick the hand of time had mellowed and 
hung with vines. 

Near it were hitched many saddle-horses and an 
odd collection of vehicles. The smart buggy, the 
antiquated yellow and gilt chariots set high and 
reached by small flights of steps, large, plain, ugly, 
square family carriages, and even an ox-cart or two. 
Many of the coachmen w^ere barefoot, and all were 
dressed in kersey. The horses all had bunches of 

91 


d)e Eing: of CNtnonK 


green leaves stuck in the harness as a protection 
against flies. 

The interior was frescoed in brown, and one end 
of the building was separated by a low railing 
forming the chancel, where the rector stood. The 
windows were of plain, small-paned glass; the 
pews dark, high, and almost square. 

The congregation was a large one and very rever- 
ent; I had never been in such a gathering before, 
and it impressed me greatly. 

As I followed Doctor O’Brien down the aisle, I 
was conscious that many eyes were turned upon me, 
and I thought that even the minister glanced at me 
curiously, — but this may have been fancy. The 
organ was old and wheezy, but I soon found myself 
singing with the others — I who had never sung 
aloud before, until the happy yesterday at Tho- 
mond. 

Service over, we moved slowly down the aisle 
with the congregation to the vestibule, and thence 
to the pavement, where, in local fashion, all the 
youth of the neighborhood had collected. Every 
one — and it seemed as if there must be ten thou- 
sand people — was gazing at me. Although out- 
wardly cool, I was much embarrassed at the curious 
glances bestowed on me, for I was surely the ob- 
92 


Cl^e l^tng: of Cbomonli 

served of all observers. As Doctor O’Brien intrO' 
duced me to a number of his friends, all seemed 
fairly cordial, but with a note of interrogation. By 
and by the rector came, a kindly gray-haired man, 
who greeted me most kindly. Every one spoke to 
every one else; there was a general hand-shaking 
and between the women many kisses. There seemed 
to be relations of every degree, for I heard cousin, 
aunt, and uncle, on every side. I noticed that every 
one who spoke to Doctor O’Brien asked particu- 
larly after his health, and, replying to or evading 
inquiry, he gradually guided me through the crowd, 
saying that he wanted to show me a graveyard, 
which lay on the other side of the court-house, and, 
curiously enough, was inaccessible from the church. 
So, turning our backs on the old church and the 
sunlit square, we partially retraced our steps and 
entered a narrow, quiet lane with grass-grown side- 
walks, across which the quaint gambrel-roofs of the 
old houses nearly met and the sun did not penetrate. 
Again we turned, going up a street — rising in 
steps — to an old brick wall, pierced by a lych- 
gate; passing through this we found ourselves in 
a large, square graveyard, beyond which could be 
seen the beautiful river motionless as glass in the 
bright June sunshine. The graveyard, although 
93 


Cbe llinff of Cbooionli 


somewhat neglected, was still beautiful. Under the 
feathery yew-trees, whose branches cast fantastic 
shadows, lay in long rows, with head and foot 
stones of various and varied designs — some crum- 
bling away — the green mounds ; over some, the 
long grasses swayed, but flowers were here and 
there, and there was a mist of daisies and gilliflow- 
ers, and scarlet poppies blazing in the sun, and the 
birds sang as they flitted to and fro. 

We roamed from one spot to another. Doctor 
O’Brien telling me of the many who lay there. 
After a time, dropping into soliloquy, as if forgetful 
of my presence, he said, musingly: “And this is 
what we must all come to ; some sooner — some 
later — we all return to the bosom of Mother 
Earth. Sometimes I pray that it may not be long 
for me.” 

“Oh, why?” I exclaimed, involuntarily. 

“ Because I have nothing to live for. No one 
to love — no one to love me,” and his eyes grew 
dreamy. 

“You have your wife and Geraldine,” I ven- 
tured. 

“ Why, yes,” he replied, “ I had forgotten them.” 

Then he turned and looked at me and asked: 
“ Would you be sorry if I died ? ” 

94 


^f)c of SDbomonti 

“ Oh, yes,” I replied. “ For you are my only 
friend.” 

“ I am glad, very glad,” he replied ; and silently 
we walked through another gate, past the curious 
old houses on Front Street — between which we 
caught glimpses of the water — down to the wharf, 
and soon we were sailing home. 

It grew cooler as the wind freshened and filled 
our sails. Clouds gathered threateningly, there 
were low mutterings of thunder in the distance, and 
we seemed to sail right into the teeth of the storm. 
Indeed as we reached the bay it broke upon us in 
all its fury. The wind wailed and screamed like 
some wild animal in pain; the lightning flashed, 
and the rain fell in torrents, but Doctor O’Brien 
covered me with rubber blankets and a coat such 
as he and Uncle Shadow wore, and although the 
waves now and again washed over us I did not get 
wet, nor was I afraid. As I cuddled down under 
my wraps, the wind seemed to sing, and I could 
almost hear voices. After a time the storm abated, 
and when we reached Thomond the sun was shin- 
ing through a lovely mist like a tender smile after 
tears. 

Our late dinner over, we went to the drawing- 
room, where the wax dolls sat as before. Doctor 
95 


CJe of Cbomontr 


O’Brien did not notice them, but, going directly to 
the piano, played divinely, played until the day was 
done — the long, fragrant summer day — and the 
sun in all its regal splendor sank behind the western 
water, and the tender twilight came on ; and as all 
the crimson faded and passed into orange over the 
bay, the first great stars appeared. My soul was 
filled with many harmonies, and still under this 
spell, I slipped away to my room without interrupt- 
ing Doctor O’Brien, to sleep and dream of the 
happiness of home. 


96 


Chapter X 


T ^HE next day broke cool and stormy. I was 
awakened in the early morning by the rain 
beating against my window — a steady drip, drip, 
drip, that promised a downpour for the day. Try 
as I would, I could not sleep again, for the expe- 
rience of the previous day oppressed me; that sud- 
den glimpse of the outer world, and the nameless 
something in the attitude of its people, set me think- 
ing. Though young, unconventional, and inexpe- 
rienced, I had a certain amount of shrewdness, and 
I began to realize in a measure my position — a 
young girl, friendless, homeless, and utterly without 
resources, alone on an island with eleven negroes 
and a man who might be crazy! But where should 
I go if I left this home, which but yesterday seemed 
so perfect to me? And it was perfect, and he had 
made it all my own; for, peculiar as was Doctor 
O’Brien’s feeling about the wax figures, in all else 
he was a noble, sensible, honorable man. I recalled 
what I had once read in one of Charles Dickens’s 
books — “ Great Expectations,” I think: “ No man 
97 


d)e Mins: of CbomonJ 


who was not a gentleman at heart ever was, since 
the world began, a gentleman in manner.” And 
he was every inch a gentleman. 

No, no, I could not, would not, go; I would 
stay to be near him whom I admired and who had 
been kinder to me than any one in all the world. 
Yes, I would stay, with God as my protector and 
friend ; He who never deserts us, and who, although 
He may not give us what we ask for, in just the 
way we ask, yet is, we know, the author of all good 
gifts. 

After breakfast. Doctor O’Brien said : “ Miss 
Mabie, you have not yet seen my laboratory. If 
you have a few minutes to give me, I will show it 
you.” He led the way up-stairs, and down the 
opposite corridor to a heavy door, corresponding 
to mine. Just within were two narrow, green 
baize doors, which he threw open, and, drawing 
aside a heavy portiere of crimson velvet, with, 
“ Enter my sanctum,” he ushered me in. 

The room was the same size as my own, the four 
walls lined with shelves, in which were many books ; 
scientific works in leather bindings, many dark with 
age. There were bottles also and glass jars of 
various shapes and sizes. Some contained chemicals ; 
others, animals, insects, snakes, and anatomical spec- 
98 


d)e of (ir()0monli 

imens. There were cases of stuffed animals and 
birds, and, in front of a window. Doctor O’Brien 
pointed out to me two skeletons — a man and a 
woman each. The heavy curtains of the windows, 
drawn back, showed the panes to be of ground glass. 

Under the chandelier, in the center of the room, 
were two long tables separated by a space of some 
four feet. On the further one — a walnut writing- 
table, covered with green leather — was a strange 
collection of birds and eggs, butterflies and bugs, 
anatomical charts, and other curious things — re- 
torts, crucibles, etc., that I did not recognize. There 
were also a large microscope, some boxes of slides, 
and writing materials. 

The other table, supported on trestles in place of 
legs, was perhaps seven feet long by two and one- 
half broad, with a rim around it almost an inch 
high, and was painted a pale blue, almost white. 
It slanted, being at least four inches higher at one 
end than at the other, where within an area of six 
inches were six holes, each about three-quarters of 
an inch in circumference, and under these was 
placed a large, square tin bucket. I noticed on 
both it and the table some dingy stains and small 
red spots resembling dried blood or rust. I here 
describe all this so minutely, because the table was 
99 


tofa 


C!)e of d)omonl) 


intimately associated with an after experience, and 
even at this, my first view of it, it fascinated me, 
and I found myself gazing at it involuntarily, and 
turning again and yet again to gaze at it. Doctor 
O’Brien showed me many interesting things, to 
which I paid but little heed; my mind wandered 
involuntarily, and at last, my curiosity getting the 
better of me, I asked, “For what purpose do you 
use this peculiar blue table?” 

He said : “ That ! oh, I am very much interested 
in practical anatomy and everything that pertains to 
it, and that is my dissecting-table. I also stuff my 
birds, animals, etc., on it. See, here is a heron I 
have just finished stuffing,” and he held up a beau- 
tiful bird. 

In a few moments I excused myself on the plea 
that my little scholar was waiting for me. He held 
back the curtain and opened the doors, and, with a 
courteous inclination, left me at the head of the 
stairs. 

Geraldine was in the library seated by the table 
in a dress of pale blue cashmere. I guided the 
wax hands to write names, and “ Brian O’Brien ” 
chimed in with my thought. I read to her history, 
geography, and began “ Sir Charles Grandison,” 
and so, with the range of the library, while osten- 


lOO 


dLit Htns of Ctomonti 


sibly teaching Geraldine, I was really studying and 
improving myself. 

Doctor O’Brien did not appear at dinner, but at 
supper he and the wax family were both in evidence.. 
After supper he invited me to take another lesson 
on the piano, and again we had a musical evening, 
ending with “ The Feast of Roses,” and as we 
parted at the foot of the stairway, he said, “ Good 
night, Miss Mabie. You have brought much joy 
into my home and heart, and I hope you will stay 
with me always,” and my heart reechoed the wish, 
and I went to bed, so very, very happy. 


lOI 


Chapter XI 


SOMETIMES feel that I, like Doctor 



jf O’Brien, should have begun my story with the 
time-honored “ Once upon a time.” It all seems so 
very long ago that I sometimes — especially after 
I have been sick — am inclined almost to doubt 
that these things really did happen. Recorded by 
the calendar, the time would cover but a few 
months, but counted by heart-throbs, it might be 
centuries. 

Here was a break of incoherency. For just before 
or after one of her attacks, the poor brain always 
seemed to be beating itself as it were into extrava- 
ganza. Indeed a singular mixture of childlikeness 
and maturity of thought, throughout the entire man- 
uscript, betrays not only the unbalanced condition, 
but the unequal development of life leading to such 
condition in the sufferer. — M. W. Barr. 

I kept up the fiction of educating the doll, Ger- 
aldine, and it resulted as had my previous readings 


102 


Ci)e l^tncf of CI)omoali 


with the epileptic girl, Clara Gray, in an education 
to me most valuable. And so I lived, and the time 
passed quickly and always pleasantly until there 
came a jar. 

On the occasion of my second appearance at 
church, I noticed, or at least fancied I noticed, cold 
looks directed toward me by some members of the 
congregation. Those to whom I had been intro- 
duced seemed not so cordial, and I thought the 
rector was a little formal. It was merely a shade 
of difference; but there was a difference. 

The following Wednesday the rector and a Mrs. 
Carroll called. Hero brought me their cards, and 
I went down at once and received them in the hall. 
Both rose and shook hands, but in a fashion so 
formal and frigid that I confess I was both awed 
and frightened. 

After a few minutes of awkward silence, Mrs. 
Carroll said, “ My dear,” and cleared her throat 
portentously. “ My dear,” she began again, and 
coughed. 

Then I took a good look at her: she was a pale, 
light-haired woman, with blue eyes and pasty com- 
plexion, slender of person, and wiry and nervous 
in manner. The rector was fat and pleasant-look- 
ing; but he was silent. “ My dear,” she said for 
103 


d)e 5^1115 of Cbomonb 


the third time, “ you are a very young woman, and I 
hope not a wicked one, but you must know that it 
is dreadful — simply dreadful, for you to live as 
you do on a desolate island like this, alone, with a 
young, unmarried man. Why, it is scandalous. 
Every one knows that Brian O’Brien is as mad as 
a March hare. My dear, we have come — the 
rector and I — to tell you that you must leave here 
at once. Why, it is not respectable for you to 
remain a minute longer. Now don’t be offended, 
I speak for your good, and I only say what every 
one says and thinks. We, the ladies belonging to 
the oldest families in the country, have held a meet- 
ing at which we discussed you. Then we again 
discussed you at the Dorcas Society, and we all 
reached the conclusion that you must leave Tho- 
mond at once.” 

The rector remained silent, and was evidently ill 
at ease. 

“ But,” I said, “ where shall I go? ” 

“ To your home, of course,” Mrs. Carroll re- 
plied. 

“ I have none.” 

“ Then go to your friends.” 

“ I have none.” 

“ Well, go anywhere.” 


104 


!^ins: of d)omonK 

“Where is that?” I asked. 

“ Don’t be impertinent, Miss — ” 

“ I am not. I am simply a girl, without home or 
friends, or money, except what I earn honestly here, 
and I have nowhere else to go,” and frightened and 
wounded at such an attack, made in such a manner, 
I broke down and began to cry. 

The woman spoke again. 

“ Will you go? ” 

“ No,” I replied, “ I will not.” 

“ Then you are a wicked hussy,” she said. 

The rector here broke in. 

“ My dear Mrs. Carroll, pray calm yourself. I 
am sure the young lady is good. She only does not 
understand. You will go. Will you not, my 
dear?” 

“ No,” I replied, “ but if you are quite finished, 
you may go. What do I care for you — or any of 
the old women who discussed me so unfeelingly. 
Go back to them, — those Pharisees, — and tell 
them I scorn them as I scorn you. Go! both of 
you,” and without a word they went, leaving me 
so utterly alone. Down on the floor, with my head 
in my arms, against the sofa I sat and sobbed, and 
here Doctor O’Brien found me when he came in 
from the fields. “ Poor little girl,” he said, when 
loS 


Cl)e Uins of C!)omonli 


he heard all; “only you made a mistake. You 
have one friend; he is here and will protect you 
always. Never mind! The day is fine; come, let 
us go for a sail ; ” and we went and enjoyed it, 
he telling me funny stories of how Mrs. Carroll — 
one of the pillars of the church — went to daily 
service during Lent, after her shopping, with sam- 
ples of lawn and gingham, and sat and chewed them 
during service to see if they would fade, hanging 
them over the back of the pew to dry. How on 
another occasion she had varnished all the prayer- 
books. How she would sell her chickens with the 
understanding — if she sold them alive — that she 
should kill them with her own hands. If her 
chickens, ducks, or geese transgressed certain laws 
that she laid down, she spanked them with a 
“ spanker ” that she generally wore, when at home, 
suspended from her girdle. I laughed heartily, but 
a silence fell between us as we drifted with the 
tide. 

I thought and thought. Mrs. Carroll evidently 
intended to be kind, although she had a crude way 
of expressing herself. All anger had left my heart, 
but it ached and ached. I longed so to love and 
to be loved, and I was sorry to have people think 
ill of me. Tears filled my eyes, and I wondered 
io6 


(?rj)e l^ing of Cbomonli 


would love ever be mine! And the wind, and the 
water, and the sky smiled as the long golden rays 
of the setting sun flashed us a glittering pathway 
home. 

The season moved on. The bright days of July 
gave place to the scorching weeks of August, when 
nature seemed fairly to quiver in the heat. The 
shorter days and cool nights of September brought 
autumnal stillness to the woods, and golden mi^ts 
that made the days a dream. Doctor O’Brien took 
me shooting and fishing; taught me how to row, 
sail, and to swim, providing me with a bathing-suit 
of blue. Indeed I should have become almost am- 
phibious but for my delight in horses, a delight 
which my kind guardian also cultivated. A beauti- 
ful white donkey, which I fancied to call “ Glori- 
ana ” after the good queen of fairyland, was my 
special favorite, but after some lessons in mounting, 
riding, and dismounting this gentle servitor, I was 
surprised to find one day at the block, led by the 
grinning Hero, a beautiful white thoroughbred, 
tossing his head as if proud of his gay caparison — 
a brand-new bridle, and a saddle across which was 
thrown a habit of fine green cloth. I stood stupe- 
fied with amazement as Hero ducked his head. 
“ Fo’ yo’sef, missy. Fum de king. Yo’r * berry 
107 


(2ri)e Etnff of C^ 0 monly 


oan,’ he say.” “For me!” I, who had never 
known the delight of possession, excepting only that 
one incident of the purchase of those dresses, to own 
a horse — and such a horse! I could not believe 
it, until a voice from behind me suddenly gave the 
assurance: “Yes, your ‘berry own.’ I hope you’ll 
like it. Miss Mabie, and that we shall have many 
happy rides together, both here and on the main- 
land.” “ Oh ! Doctor O’Brien, how can I ever 
thank you ? ” 

“ Just don’t, I beg of you, for it is pure selfish- 
ness for me to secure thus a companion in an exer- 
cise to which you well know I am devoted. Now 
run away and don your habit, — I am anxious to 
know if I have made a good guess at a fit, — and 
we will try the mettle of your steed.” 

Quickly I followed his bidding and was again 
at his side, with : “ Oh ! Doctor O’Brien, how did 
you do it? I have never had a dress fit so well.” 
And indeed the closely fitting basque, with its three 
rows of small gilt buttons, did accentuate my figure, 
which was slender and petite, to the best advantage. 
On my toilet-table I had found a felt hat, with 
curling ostrich plumes of the same dark huntsman’s 
green; and Doctor O’Brien, smiling, extended to 
me a pair of yellow gauntlets and a little whip, gold- 
108 


dLit 0f C!)0monti 

tipped, and bearing my initials. Never was a girl 
so happy! 

“ But tell me, how did you do it? ” 

“Oh! it was all very simple. Your height 1 
already knew,’* measuring, laughingly, the top of 
my head with his arm. “ ‘ Just as high as my 
heart,’ you see; and your long coat, hanging in the 
hall, afforded all the measurements my tailor re- 
quired; and he managed the rest. So there is the 
matter in a nutshell. Now shall we be off? ” And 
with scarcely a touch of my foot to his hand, he 
lifted me with easy grace into the saddle. Oh ! the 
delight of that ride and of many, many after ones! 

My horse was perfectly gaited ; first a delightful 
pacing so smooth that I believe I could have carried 
a glass of water unspilled in my hand. This, with 
increased speed, passed rapidly into a long, loping 
canter most exhilarating. Through field and wood 
and out on the firm beach we went, enjoying the 
light breeze and the sunset glow over the water, 
and, as reluctantly we turned our horses’ heads, the 
wonderful comet of that year gleamed a strange 
jewel in the western sky. 

“ There, Miss Mabie, — I’ve been wondering 
what you would name your new possession ? What 
do you think of Comet? Surely in both speed and 
109 


of C!)onionli 


color he emulates it! Just see how that white tail 
spreads to the very zenith.” It was indeed a vision 
of beauty, and we lingered, enjoying the witchery of 
the twilight until our horses grew restive, and we 
turned toward home — that sweetest of words — 
how I loved to use it. 


I lO 


Chapter XII 



CTOBER came with its dropping nuts and 


its scarlet and gold ; when the quail whistled 
“ Bob White ” in the stubble, or the whirring covey 
rose from the pursuit of the dogs. How beautiful 
the sumach berries were, and what fun it was to 
hunt the chinquapins and chestnuts in the long af- 
ternoons. But we never went to church, nor did 
we even mention it again. In the early part of the 
month. Doctor O’Brien told me there was to be 
tournament at Queenstown. A young man, suc- 
cessful at many previous jousts, had challenged the 
entire “ Eastern Shore ” as the champion of Queen 
Anne County. 

Doctor O’Brien had consented to ride as the 
Knight of Thomond, and he practised every day, 
riding for the ring, with Hero and me for an ad- 
miring audience. Indeed it was a delight to see him 
mount his beautiful black mare, “ Mavourneen.” 
She was lithe, delicately limbed, and high-spirited, 
yet gentle as a dog, and seemed as proud of her 
rider as he of her. And so through all those glori- 


III 


d)e of Cjiomont) 


ous autumn days we watched with pride the in- 
creasing skill and grace he acquired in this daily 
practice. 

“ Now let us discuss costumes,” he exclaimed 
one afternoon, throwing himself on the grass beside 
me, as Hero led Mavourneen off to the stable. 

“ The Knights of Thomond have no precise 
record in this respect, so we may indulge our im- 
agination all the way from a full suit of armor — 
not very practicable by the way — up to any gala 
dress that fancy may dictate.” 

“ Why not emerald green ? ” I laughingly replied. 

“Ah, you are thinking of St. Patrick! Yes, but 
somehow I always fancied that thought of one ‘ who 
wore the white flower of a blameless life ’ — Sir 
Galahad. What say you to a suit of white?” 

“Beautiful!” I exclaimed, “with trimmings of 
silver, and the cap might have the suggestion of 
a crown, in wire.” 

“ Yes, and to bring in your St. Patrick, the silver 
braiding of the cloak might have the suggestion of 
his clover leaf. There you are. Miss Mabie; and 
now that we have started our idea, let us search 
out its conclusion. There are some chests of old 
things in the garret. We might find something 
there to help us.” 


II2 


Cfte Sliuff of ®^!)omanK 


Eager as two children seeking a toy, we climbed 
into the low-roofed attic, where we found many 
trunks and two old-fashioned chests. One high, 
with deep drawers, the other with carved lid. 
Seated on this, I watched my companion draw from 
one or another the raiment of a dead past. There 
was an odd commingling of styles in cloth, velvet, 
and silk. “ Here is the uniform of my grandfather, 
the progenitor of the American branch.” 

I shook my head. 

“ No? Well, what of this, which must have been 
worn at some high function,” displaying a suit of 
white-flowered satin, with knee breeches, silken hose, 
low shoes, and jewelled buckles. The waistcoat was 
long, and the deep lappets on neck and sleeves of 
the long loose coat turned back, displaying ruffles 
of fine lace. 

“ Oh ! ” I exclaimed, “ there must be a peruke 
somewhere to go with this ! ” 

“ Not exactly,” he replied, “ but see,” and, un- 
locking an inner drawer, he showed a coronet — a 
narrow band, with an odd ornament in front, ter- 
minating in three sharp points of gold. 

“ The very thing for your cap. But then you 
could not ride with ease in this suit. You would 
spoil it. And it is hardly suitable, do you think? ” 

1 13 


Orje of d)0mont( 


“ Well, I might have one made in this fashion,’^ 
and he showed a suit of green cloth with tight- 
fitting jacket and buskins, and short shoulder-cape. 

“ That is better, and you could still wear the 
coronet in your hat.” 

“ Oh ! if you have a fancy for coronets, let me 
show you the wedding-dress of my great-grand- 
mother, made for her presentation at court. But 
I must ask you to rise, for it is in that very chest 
on which you are seated.” 

I rose in eager haste, and together we peered into 
that repository of the long ago, where lay a dress of 
lustrous white satin, under a veil of rare lace. 
Doctor O’Brien shook out the folds, and, holding 
it up to me, exclaimed : “ I do believe it would fit 
you. I have an idea. But it is too late to discuss 
it now. Come, we will take these down with 
us, and after supper we will try them on, and have 
a little masquerade of our own.” So, gathering 
them up, we left the attic to the ghostly shadows 
of the gathering twilight. At supper Doctor 
O’Brien chatted lightly on one topic and another, 
but, curious and excited, I could not eat, and, ob- 
serving my abstraction, he sent me away with the 
laughing injunction to dress quickly and join him 
in the drawing-room. 

114 


dLht of €^l)omonti 


I ran up to my own room, where the shimmering 
satin shone up from my sofa. The petticoat was 
sprinkled with creamy roses; the bodice was square- 
cut, filled in with rare lace that stood up as a ruff 
behind; the tight elbow sleeves were finished with 
ruffles of satin and lace. The open overdress, bor- 
dered with gold lace, fell straight in front, from 
shoulder to foot; the back, pleated at the neck and 
held in slightly at the waist, swept out in a long 
train. Trembling with excitement, I began to 
dress. Yes, he was right. It fitted perfectly. 
Even the satin shoes with high heels I could get on, 
although I could not at first walk in them; but at 
last I entered the drawing-room. Involuntarily my 
eyes sought the wax figures, but they were hidden 
from view by the piano, which had been drawn 
out. 

Doctor O’Brien came forward to greet me. 
Could it be he? 

“ What a transformation and how becoming! ” 
we exclaimed, simultaneously, and then broke into 
peals of laughter as we advanced and receded 
before the long mirror, bowing and curtseying, the 
costumes seeming to impart to us something of their 
own peculiar stateliness and grace. 

“ And now yet another transformation ! See the 

115 


€:f)e of C^omonti 


coronet I had to show you,” said Doctor O’Brien, 
as he lifted from the pier-table a tiara of glittering 
stones, and^ placed it on my head. 

“ There, your costume is complete. And now, 
my lady fair, that our discussion has materialized 
thus far, will you hear me to the end? Let us 
carry out both suggestions, yours and my own. If I 
win, doubtless you are aware that you win also. 
Yes, you need not look so mystified. Of course, I 
ride for you — and only you. Now what more 
fitting than that I should wear your colors. And 
this riding-suit here is but a shade different from 
your own. Then, too, it is, as you yourself inti- 
mated, the proper color for one of the Emerald 
Isle. So it is just as it should be, and nothing 
could be more appropriate. But for the ball, our 
riding-costumes are not so fitting, and here we are, 
without parleying, in true masquerade, the King 
and Queen of Thomond — crowns and all.” Yet 
still I stood stupefied with amazement. 

“ You ride for me? Take me to a ball? I was 
never at one in my life, and I cannot dance.” 

“What delightfully new experiences! You will 
be entering a new world. No, you must not be 
frightened. Miss Mabie. I shall be with you, and 
you know you said you would trust me. It must 
1 16 


JS-tiiff of ®^!)omottU 


be in this as in everything. Not dance? Come, I 
will teach you, but first change to your own slip- 
pers, and you shall add another to your list of 
accomplishments.” This I did speedily, and hum- 
ming softly an entrancing waltz measure, he car- 
ried me around the room until insensibly I glided 
into it without effort. 

“Well done!” he exclaimed, delightedly. 
“Now see what you can do alone,” and going to the 
piano he played, marking so well the time that 
again I was obedient to the measure. “ A little 
practice and your ladyship will be entirely au fait. 
Believe me, you need have no fear,” he added, smil- 
ingly. “ But now about my costume. You cannot 
judge until you see me in it. Will you wait for 
me? It is more cheerful here,” and, as we passed 
into the hall, quite tired out, I sank into a chair 
before the glowing embers, and watched him dis- 
appear up the stairs. Every inch a king, I thought, 
and truly he looked it. Soon he returned a veritable 
Robin Hood in the suit of Lincoln green, which, 
fitting him as perfectly as did the other, showed to 
better advantage the fine proportions of his splendid 
figure. 

“ Yes, that is fine,” I exclaimed. 

“ And so it is settled,” he said, “ we wear our 
117 


of CI)omoni 


suits of green and of white without further thought 
and preparation.” 

“ Always supposing that you will be victor,” I 
rejoined, “ otherwise we will not wear the white, 
but turn our faces toward the setting sun as quickly 
as possible.” 

“ Not at all, please you,” he said, “ we are better 
off than most losers, for we have characters and 
costumes in reserve, and if not successful knight 
and queen of ‘ Love and Beauty,’ we still may mas- 
querade as the King and Queen of Thomond. But 
a truce to forebodings! Let us rather believe that 
for us there is no such word as fail.” 

At last the day came bright and clear and still — 
a perfect November day — fortunately, for the 
transportation of horses to the mainland was not 
always easy. We embarked on the barge with 
horses and baggage immediately after breakfast, and 
by ten o’clock were on shore, and rode directly to 
the hotel — The Queen’s Arms. 

The sleepy little town presented a festive appear- 
ance, the streets gay with flags and arches and 
wreaths of green. The hotel was crowded, but our 
rooms had been engaged, and we went to them 
immediately. At an early luncheon we met many 

ii8 


CJe of 


of the knights, already in costume, and their friends, 
and I was introduced to a number of persons. The 
men were all courteous and pleasant, but the 
women were cold, shy, and looked at me askance. 
My cheeks burned, as, on leaving the dining-room, 
I heard one woman say to another: 

“ She is young to be so bad ! ” and the other 
replied : 

“ Yes. Isn’t it scandalous? I wonder where her 
rouge is? ” 

But I thought only of their bad manners, and 
held my head the higher, as Doctor O’Brien led 
me to where our horses were standing, and we rode 
off to the grounds, which were about a mile from 
the town. Dismounting at the steps leading to the 
grand stand. Doctor O’Brien, after finding me a 
seat about the center, and opposite the judges’ stand, 
left me to join the other knights. I became im- 
mediately absorbed in the novel situation; so much 
so that I forgot to feel lonely or even to notice 
that the seats about me were rapidly filling, chiefly 
with persons I had seen at luncheon, until my at- 
tention was drawn by the merry laughter and gay 
voices of a party of young people seated several 
tiers below me. There were many pretty girls and 
young women, but one in particular attracted me. A 
119 


d)e of S^j^omonU 


brunette with red cheeks and full red lips. The 
sunny brown of the chestnut in eyes and hair was 
repeated in her costume of rich silk. The eyes were 
bright; the hair, waving down on her forehead, 
was caught in a twist at the back, where it fell over 
a comb in short curls from under her hat that was 
little more than a wreath of scarlet poppies. 

There was much chaffing and merry laughter, 
from which I gathered that she would likely be the 
chosen one of the champion. 

Just here it occurs to me. Doctor Barr, that if 
you are not personally familiar with these jousts 
of long ago, my story may interest you more if I 
explain in detail the programme. 

The race-course is straight. Over it, at regular 
intervals, arches are thrown, and from the center 
of each, at about the average height of the lance 
carried by a rider, a ring is suspended on a hooked 
wire, which readily yields it at touch. There are 
three rings, and each knight rides in turn, in re- 
sponse to call, the full length of the course in a 
fixed time, taking the rings without any slackening 
of speed. The one who secures the largest number 
crowns the queen of love and beauty and wdns the 
first prize, and each in order of success also wins 
a crown and maid of honor. 


120 


CI)e of CI)omont[ 


The judges’ stand is midway, commanding an 
unobscured view of the track, and the music-stand 
near enough to be signaled. 

The unsuccessful rider may return by a road 
back of the spectators to the starting-point; the 
successful knight returns amid the plaudits of the 
crowd, bearing his rings to the judges, and resumes 
position, awaiting his turn for a second charge. 

The crowns of flowers and the prizes are ex- 
hibited near the judges’ stand, on which the cere- 
mony of crowning takes place immediately after 
the names of victorious knights have been pro- 
claimed by a herald, and the royal party, escorted 
back to the town by the cavalcade of knights, opens 
the ball in the evening. 

At two o’clock there was a blare of trumpets, 
and a hush fell upon the crowd. The open car- 
riages, bearing the judges, dashed up to the stand 
in front of which the champion, in a scarlet suit, 
mounted on a superb black horse, took position, 
while a herald proclaimed his challenge, at the 
same time throwing down his gauntlet. It was 
lifted by another herald in the name of the con- 
testing knights — fifteen in number — one for 
Queen Anne and two from each of the other coun- 
ties of the Eastern Shore, as it happened. 


I2I 


!^tng: of CftoinonU 


The cavalcade, two abreast, but led by one, rode 
slowly down the course as their herald announced 
them, wheeling to salute the champion, and then 
returned to the starting-point, where he rejoined 
them to await the summons, his being the first. 

“The Knight of Queen Anne!” shouted the 
herald. He rode forward, took position, and at 
the second call of “ Charge, Sir Knight,” passed 
like a flash of fire, taking all three rings, and came 
down the course to deliver them to the judges, amid 
the cheers and applause mingling with the strains 
of music. There was a visible stir in the group 
below me, as he doffed his hat and bowed low in 
passing, and the glowing cheeks of the beauty be- 
trayed whose colors he wore. The next rider was 
the single contestant from his own county — the 
Knight of Readbourne — who took two, but lost 
one ring. 

Again the trumpet’s blare brought silence for the 
herald’s call for the Knights of Kent. The Knight 
of Sterling rode forward, taking but one ring, and 
returned, greeted with laughter and the assurance 
that a bad beginning might make a good ending. 
But I knew that another than he would maintain 
the honor of Kent. 

There was a murmur of admiration as the 


122 


Cbe Einff of CNmonDi 


Knight of Thomond rode into the lists. “ What 
a splendid-looking man, and how perfect his cos- 
tume.” And in truth it was even better than we 
had hoped; the girdle of gold mesh with fringed 
ends and the golden coronet brought out the pecul- 
iar tint of green, becoming to both horse and rider. 

Mavourneen seemed almost conscious of the oc- 
casion and proud of her knight, who, with his won- 
derful eyes alight, bowed low with a royal grace 
and dignity in response to the cheer of welcome 
which rose almost spontaneously. 

“ Charge, Sir Knight! ” and Mavourneen sprang 
forv^ard. With an almost level gait, rider and 
horse seemed one, in the perfect ease with which 
they shot through the arches and carried off the 
three rings. His eye met mine as he returned with 
a look that recalled that first intimation: “If I 
win, you win.” I only smiled, the only one in all 
that concourse of people who was absolutely quiet. 
I simply could not move, nor applaud; nor did 
I note much more of what passed as knight after 
knight sped on to either success or defeat, until the 
number of contestants narrowed to the Knight of 
Thomond and the two from Talbot County — the 
Knight of Wye and the Knight of Perry Hall. 
These two, however, soon dropped out, and the 
123 


CJe Etnff of CI)omonU 


interest of the day reached a climax when it centered 
on a trial between the champion and the Knight 
of Thomond. Again and again the black horses, 
with their green and scarlet clad riders, flashed 
before the eyes of the excited audience, with grace 
and skill so evenly matched that one invariably 
hated to see either lose. Finally, becoming over- 
confident, the champion inadvertently allowed his 
lance to strike a ring, sending it far in advance of 
him. 

The Knight of Thomond, with perfect coolness, 
charged down the course, and returned, bearing the 
three upon his lance. 

The music of the band was lost in the deafening 
cheers that rent the air, as he presented them to 
the judges, and, wheeling, doffed his plumed hat 
and bowed low before the grand stand; and my 
heart throbbed as again I recalled his words: “ For 
you, and only you.” 

The two knights shook hands most cordially as 
the herald proclaimed the awards, and together 
they crossed the course and mounted the stand, he 
of the scarlet going straight for the beauty, who 
flashed a glance from under her poppies at me, as 
Doctor O’Brien led me down and across to the 
judges’ stand. I do not know how I could have 


124 


CI)e of CbomonlJ 


been so composed and entirely at ease, unless it was 
that I saw the whole thing in the light of the 
dreams of my childhood days, and therefore the 
atmosphere was really more natural to me than to 
others, to whom queens and coronations, royalty 
and knighthood, was merely book lore. 

Whatever the cause, it was with a half-sense of 
amusement that I listened and replied to the con- 
strained remarks of my companions, of whom I 
took precedence as we advanced to meet our re- 
spective knights, and listened to the grandiloquent 
words of the coronation address, with a feeling that 
I was somehow a cause of embarrassment to the 
orator of the occasion, who had evidently prepared 
his remarks for another. I was genuinely sorry, 
too, for the beauty whom I had supplanted, and 
but for my sympathy for Doctor O’Brien in his vic- 
tory, would gladly have exchanged places with her. 
To have been chosen and crowned by the Knight of 
Thomond was enough for me; whether queen or 
maid, I cared not. But that it was a nice ending 
to our pretty autumn plays, I realized, as after 
adjusting the coronet of roses on my head, and 
we were descending to the carriages, he whispered: 

“ Did I not say, for us there is no such word 
as fail?” 

A25 


of CJornonti 


“ Oh ! do let us ride,” I entreated, “ it will be 
so much nicer.” 

Indeed I felt I could not sit alone, a gazing-stock 
for that crowd, nor would it be any more agreeable 
to ride with the strange women — my maids of 
honor.” 

“ Very good,” he replied. “ The horses are here, 
and many queens have preferred the saddle. Even 
the great Elizabeth herself,” and, waving away the 
disappointed coachman, he offered his hand to lift 
me into the saddle, and we passed out at the head 
of the cortege, the other knights escorting the two 
carriages which contained the maids of honor. 

“ How fortunate we did not choose the scarlet 
costume,” he said. 

“ Oh, yes ! I thought of it at once. There would 
have been much confusion in that last tilt. How 
would the people ever have known? for the half 
of them could not hear the call.” 

“ But you?” 

“Oh, yes! I could not mistake. But indeed I 
am very sorry for that girl.” 

“ And I for her knight. He is a good fellow 
and a splendid rider. Had you not been in it, I 
think I should have yielded. As it was I was 
bound by all the laws of knighthood to win.” 

126 


C!)e of CjDtnonDi 


“ If only to crown our autumn fete! For it has 
been one long fete-day.” 

“ I am glad you found it so. And the end is not 
yet, I trust. 

“ Now,” he said, as we dismounted, “ I am going 
to order your dinner sent to your room, so you 
will have the rest you need, and can make your 
toilet at your leisure. Yes! ” replying to my 
look of gratitude, — for I had no words to thank 
him for his thoughtfulness, — “ you will not want 
to be mixed up with those people, and,” with an 
obeisance, “ I will attend your Majesty in the re- 
ception-room at eight o’clock. 

But stay — one moment ! ” and leaving me at 
the door of my room, he returned quickly to place 
a package in my hands. 

“ Your Majesty’s jewels. The Queen of Love 
and Beauty is also the Queen of Thomond, and 
its king, her knight, here tenders the allegiance 
which is her due,” and, with a smile in his beauti- 
ful eyes that I can never forget, he dropped on one 
knee, kissed my hand, and passed swiftly to his 
room. 

I opened a velvet case to find not only the tiara 
I had worn on the evening of our rehearsal, of 
large opals, each surrounded with old-fashioned 
127 


of CSomoni 


brilliants, but an exquisite necklace and pendant, 
brooch and earrings, and high comb set with the 
same sparkling gems. The design was clearly 
brought out in the long earrings; pendent from 
a bow-knot of brilliants, a lozenge of opal, sur- 
rounded by brilliants, swung in a large hoop in 
which the stones alternated. Entranced, as truly 
as if I were in fairyland, I lost myself in a dream, 
half-sleeping, half-waking, but resting deliciously, 
until aroused by a knock at the door, and the ap- 
pearance of my dinner, over which I lingered before 
beginning a leisurely toilet. 

At last my mirror assured me that all was right, 
from the sweep of the silken train to the rise of the 
wired ruff of creamy lace, which formed a fitting 
background for the jewels which were to me simply 
dazzling. 

The coronet was beautiful above the clustering 
roses, from the midst of which gleamed the comb, 
holding my hair in a loose coil, from which I had 
allowed one long curl to escape. 

The gloves, which I found in the packet with 
the casket of jewels, fitted to perfection, another 
evidence of the thoughtful kindness that had 
glowed in the eyes of my knight — my king! Was 
ever a girl more fortunate 1 Surely none more 
128 


d)e of C|)omnnli 


happy than she who entered with light heart and 
step the reception-room where her knight was 
awaiting her. 

Superbly handsome, resplendent in satin, lace, 
and jewels that matched my own, he met me with 
a look of tender approval, and led me forward. 

“ My lords and ladies in waiting, her Majesty 
the Queen.” 

Amazement struggled with admiration on every 
face, as one and all involuntarily made formal 
obeisance, and together we entered the ballroom 
and formed the opening quadrille. Throughout 
the whole evening no woman spoke to me — but 
I did not mind that; the men were all courteous, 
and we danced until daylight — danced until the 
candles had burned low and the flowers had faded, 
and, as we rowed home in the early November 
morning, Doctor O’Brien sang softly the then new 
song which will never, never grow old — that 
song of Jacques Blumenthal — “ My Queen.” 

“When and how shall I earliest meet her? 

What are the words she first will say? 

By what name shall I learn to greet her? 

I know not now, but ’twill come some day. 

With the selfsame sunlight shining upon her, 
Streaming down on her ringlets sheen, 

129 


®;i)e of CbomonU 


She is standing somewhere, she I would honor, 
She that I wait for, my Queen, my Queen. 

“ I will not dream of her tall and stately. 

She that I love may be fairy light; 

I will not say she should walk sedately, 
Whatever she does, it will sure be right. 

And she may be humble or proud, my lady. 

Or that sweet calm which is just between ; 
But whenever she comes, she will find me ready 
To do her homage, my Queen, my Queen. 


“ But she must be courteous, she must be holy. 

Pure in her spirit, that maiden I love; 

Whether her birth be noble or lowly, 

I care no more than the spirit above. 

And I’ll give my heart to my lady’s keeping, 

And ever her strength on mine shall lean. 

And the stars shall fall, and the angels be weeping 
Ere I cease to love her, my Queen, my Queen.” 

We reached home, tired, but very happy. When 
we entered the hall, Doctor O’Brien, placing me 
in a great chair before the blazing logs, went into 
the dining-room, returning almost Immediately with 
glasses and a bottle of champagne. Filling the 
glasses, he gave me one, and raising high the other 
said, “Drink, Miss Mabie! This, as was that 
famous cowslip wine of Olivia’s, is like the dew 
130 


Cl^e of Cbomoali 


of spring, with the glint of its sunshine and the 
scent of its daisies and buttercups. Drink! See, I 
pour a libation to the health and happiness of the 
Queen of Love and Beauty — the Queen of Tho- 
mond — and now good night — or shall it be good 
day?” And as I went up the stairway, I heard 
him singing again, “ My Queen.” 


Chapter XIII 


/ 'T might all have been only a dream once my 
regal robes were packed away, so naturally did 
we take up the quiet routine of what seemed 
through all those glorious autumn days a charmed 
existence. 

True I still kept up the fiction of teaching Ger- 
aldine, but it was really, as I have said, myself 
pursuing a course of study; and in this, as in my 
music, Doctor O’Brien was my guide and mentor, 
and we discussed our studies without effort to keep 
up former illusions. In the same way, during our 
hours at the piano, the wax woman was as com- 
pletely ignored. The exquisite weather, too, lured 
us continually out-of-doors, and, either in the boat 
or the saddle or strolling on the beach and through 
the beautiful wood, we were again together. He 
with his big lionlike mastiff, Surajah, — I with my 
little lamb. Innocence, a motherless waif like my- 
self that Hero and I had rescued and nourished 
and petted until it followed me at call. 

For me these were halcyon days in very truth, 
132 


^lit of CSomanti 


and I became conscious of a change and a growing 
quietude in my companion, also, as pronounced as it 
was inexplicable. There were no longer fits of 
abstraction or nervous excitement, and the peculiar, 
unfathomable expression in his beautiful eyes was 
exchanged for one of happiness and content. Thus 
the November days melted into the exquisite Indian 
summer as we watched the glow pass from the 
wood to concentrate in the western sky. 

“ The garnered loveliness of all seasons, as it is 
also the crystallization of life. Don’t you believe 
it ? ” he exclaimed one evening, as coming in he 
went to the piano, and, playing softly the opening 
chords, sang that lovely song of Samuel Lover’s, 
“ The Indian Summer.” 

“ When summer’s verdant beauty flies, 

And Autumn glows with richer dyes, 

A softer charm beyond them lies. 

It is the Indian Summer. 

Ere Winter’s snows and Winter’s breeze 
Bereave of beauty all the trees. 

The balmy Spring renewal sees 
In the sweet Indian Summer. 


“ And thus, dear love, if early years 
Have drown’d the germ of joy in tears, 
A later gleam of hope appears. 

Just like the Indian Summer; 

133 


of Cj)omoali 


And ere the snows of age descend, 

Oh, trust me, dear one, changeless friend. 

Our falling years may brightly end, 

Just like the Indian Summer.” 

“ It may be true,” he added, dreamily, “ that 
love strikes but one hour, but it has its antiphon far 
down the years, and I believe, too, the truth: 

“ ‘ My heart but shed its outer leaves 
To give thee all the rest.’ ” 

I made no reply. What did I know of love, 
save only its absence, unless it were found in that 
abiding sense of protecting care that had enveloped 
my life during these few happy months? I dared 
.not question — indeed I did not want to know. 

Alas, the knowledge came all too soon. 

Early in December — the seventh, I remember 
— Doctor O’Brien announced his intention of go- 
ing to New York. Important business might de- 
tain him for two weeks. He would be back at the 
very latest on the twenty-third — the twenty-first, 
if possible. He was to start that same evening. 

Two whole weeks without seeing him — with- 
out hearing his voice! How could I endure it? 
And now I knew beyond a doubt or a peradventure 
that I loved him. We had been friends and almost 


134 


of Cbomonli 


inseparable companions — but I had not dreamed 
of this. After the first pain I was anxious to have 
him gone, that I might battle with my heart alone, 
and determine what I should do. For instinctively 
I felt I could not remain and continue this life of 
close association with a man whom I loved, but 
who, alas, did not love me! The thought was in- 
tolerable. Oh, could I but deceive myself into 
thinking it was only friendship and good comrade- 
ship! But, no, the pain was too deep, and betrayed 
a deeper feeling. As he bade me good-by in the 
hall he said, lightly: “It is the Beast that leaves 
Beauty this time, not Beauty the Beast. Will 
Beauty miss the Beast?” and I hardly had mur- 
mured “ yes ” before he was gone. Ah, those two 
weeks of loneliness and bitter pain! Can I ever 
forget them? 

A heavy fall of snow kept me confined to the 
house a prey to bitter thoughts, and both books 
and music failed to divert me. The wax figures 
seemed to mock my wretchedness. 

He had loved them, or at least fancied he had. 
Me, never! They might stay. I must go. Go! 

“How can I leave thee. Paradise?” 

How my soul steeped itself anew in that first 
bitterness. Would I had gone then. But, no. If 

135 


CJe Htnff of 2r|^omont)i 


without hope, memory at least was mine, and such 
memories. 

But what to do? Where to go? were the ever- 
recurring, ever- torturing questions. Finally I be- 
thought me that my uncle had heard of this place 
through an advertisement. At once I searched the 
papers, but in vain. Yet others were advertising. 
Why might not I? But not from Thomond, for 
my mind reverted to that visit of Mrs. Carroll and 
the clergyman, and, inexperienced as I was, I felt 
instinctively that I had best not invite inquiry of 
such neighbors. 

Finally I determined to return to Wilmington, 
seek my old teachers, beg their protection, — I 
would have money to pay my board, — and from 
their house seek a position. The days had dragged 
a weary length before I reached this decision. Then 
I rallied. I would give myself one week of happi- 
ness. Christmas should be added to my happy 
memories, and busily I bestirred myself in decking 
the house with holly and cedar, preparing for the 
master’s coming. 

On the twenty-first a letter came, telling me he 
would not arrive until the evening of the twenty- 
third, and requesting that Uncle Silence should 
meet him with three other men to take care of 
136 


Cbe l^ing: of STbomonU 


a heavy box. It was the merest business note, but, 
ah, to me it meant release from loneliness — the 
presence of the man I loved, and in a transport 
I covered it with kisses and hid it close to my heart. 


137 


Chapter XIV 



'HE twenty-third dawned bright and fairly 


i warm for the season, and I could not resist 
the temptation to accompany Uncle Silence on the 
boat to meet the steamer. I felt I could not endure 
the waiting time alone, and now that my resolution 
was taken, every unnecessary moment apart would 
be that much lost from the pages of memory. I 
could not afford to abridge my short term of hap- 
piness. Then, too, it seemed so long since we had 
had a sail together. Surely my coming would be 
a pleasant surprise to him, and my heart leaped 
forward toward the cheery greeting of which it 
felt so well assured. So, in a mood almost merry, 
I embarked, and, as we sped along, I caught up 
the water rippling at the bow, kissed it, and threw 
it back, a libation. 

A faint line of smoke heralded the coming of the 
steamer, and, as I watched its approach, involun- 
tarily in thought I wandered back to that day in 
June when I had stood upon its deck, and a whole 


138 


d)e Etnff of 


lifetime seemed compressed into those six months; 
truly a lifetime of experience, compared with the 
monotony of as many years in the past. My eager 
gaze soon found him I sought, standing almost on 
the same spot where first I had met his outstretched 
hand. He seemed surprised, and, I almost fancied, 
annoyed at my coming, for he did not return my 
smile; and after the most ordinary greeting he 
turned quickly to superintend the lowering into the 
stern of our boat of a long, narrow pine box, which 
seemed very heavy. His trunk, valise, and many 
packages followed, and we were soon off. 

Seated with his back against the long box. Doctor 
O’Brien drew his heavy cloak about him, and, with 
his face half-hidden, seemed lost in reverie, as we 
turned toward home. The wind had risen, there 
was a flurry of snowflakes, and, seated in the bow, 
chilled to the heart by his coldness, I yet felt a 
certain content at again being near him. 


« To love is greater than the love we sigh for, 

I loved, and the world was mine.” 

As he helped me, with his usual care, out of the 
boat, my heart thrilled with gladness at his touch. 
‘‘Why did you come to meet me?” he asked. 

139 


Cbe Eing: nf CbomcnU 


“ Because — because — I wanted so much to see 
you,” I replied; and without waiting I hastened 
into the house and to my room, where soon I heard 
the heavy tramp of feet, as the men bore the long 
box up the stairu^ay and into the laboratory. 

I made a careful toilet for supper, wearing my 
pretty white gown, and as, awaiting the summons, 
I drew a chair to the fire. Hero came in, and, squat- 
ting on the hearth, exhibited proudly a silver watch 
that Doctor O’Brien had bought him. Then he 
asked in a confidential tone, if I knew “ what was 
in dat big box.” When I answered “ no,” he said, 
“ Neider do I, but it do hab a powerful queer 
smell. I had my nose to de crack, and doctor say 
so cross-like, ‘ Git out o’ dat. Hero.’ I just lak tuh 
know what’s in dat box, sartan sho’, an’ I will; 
den I come tell yuse.” We little knew that I would 
be the first to learn the secret. 

Doctor O’Brien met me at the head of the stair- 
way, and, with only an inclination of the head, 
silently offered me his arm, and together we entered 
the dining-room. I was entirely self-possessed as 
Doctor O’Brien recounted one and another interest- 
ing point, concerning his trip, but I underestimated 
the extent of the strain and my power of endurance. 
The very sight and odor of food proved distasteful 


140 


Cbe of S^bomonti 


to me. I grew hot, then cold and dizzy, and then, 
half-fainting, I rose to leave the room. Doctor 
O’Brien came quickly to my side. 

“ Miss Mabie, you are ill ! ” he said, in an 
anxious tone, leading me into the hall, where he 
forced me to remain seated for some moments before 
he supported me up the stairway. He left me with 
instructions to keep my room until he saw me in 
the morning, and later sent me a delicious hot 
draught, which soon put me to sleep. I slept very 
soundly at first, and I think it must have been 
between twelve and one o’clock when I was roused 
by a peculiar whirring sound as if a saw was being 
driven through a hard substance. I sat up in bed 
to hear more distinctly, but the sound had ceased, 
and there was silence. After listening for some 
time, I came to the conclusion that I had been 
dreaming. The fire had sunk to a mere red glow 
in the fireplace, but now and then there would be 
a spurt of flame, which disappeared as suddenly 
as it came. The room was intensely cold, and, 
shivering, I wrapped myself closely in the blankets. 
I was just falling into a doze, when I heard the 
sound a second time — whiz-z-z-z-z, whir-r-r-r-r, 
whiz-z-z-z-z. I sat up in bed again to listen, and 
this time it was continuous. Certainly I was not 
141 


®l)e of CJomonli 


dreaming? I must see what caused that noise. 
Quickly getting into my wrapper and slippers, I 
softly unfastened the door, and stepped out into 
the corridor. There it was unmistakable, and issu- 
ing without doubt from the laboratory. The 
thought flashed through my mind that perhaps 
Doctor O’Brien was engaged in some of his ana- 
tomical investigations, and as this appeared reason- 
able, my fears were allayed, and I turned to retrace 
my steps, when suddenly it occurred to me that 
now would be the opportunity to see what went 
on in that mysterious room. I had always felt 
great curiosity to see him at work, indeed had 
asked him to admit me, but he had always laughed 
me off with the injunction not to grow pedantic. 

To-night an unseen power, as it were, seemed 
to impel me to investigate. My slippered feet made 
no noise as I glided swiftly and silently down the 
passage, reached the laboratory, passed stealthily the 
baize door, and found myself concealed behind the 
heavy velvet curtain, which was fully drawn. Cau- 
tiously pulling this a little aside, the sight that met 
my eyes was one to freeze the blood in my veins. 
There, stretched upon the table (which I have 
before described) was the body of a w’oman. 
Naked, except for a white cloth thrown over part 


142 


Cbe of ©bomonti 


of the trunk and lower limbs, she lay upon her 
back with her head dropped over the edge of the 
table, and I could see that the figure was beauti- 
fully moulded and that the hands and feet were 
small and delicately formed. The skin, discolored 
to a bluish-brown, looked like fine leather. The 
right arm was frightfully mutilated, and the body 
itself lay open, so that I could see into cavities of 
both chest and abdomen. 

Doctor O’Brien was bending over the head. He 
had cut the scalp across the top and pulled it for- 
ward, until it, with the long hair attached, com- 
pletely covered the face. He was sawing directly 
around it, and this was the whirring sound I had 
heard. Breathless, incapable of motion, to all prac- 
tical purposes as dead as the woman who lay before 
me, I stood simply fascinated, and watched each 
detail of the dreadful sight. He began carefully to 
dissect out the brain, which he in a few moments 
removed, and transferred to a large shallow dish. 
Horrified at the ghastly sight and sound, I yet 
was strangely interested. Somehow my mind re- 
verted to what I had heard of the human skull 
and spinal cord being the golden bowl and silver 
cord mentioned in Scripture, and in spite of my 
terror I involuntarily pressed forward for a closer 

143 


Cj^e of d)omontl 


view. Suddenly Doctor O’Brien, with a quick 
movement, replaced the skull-cap and drew back the 
scalp, which had been covering the face. Shall I 
ever forget that face? No! not if I should live 
for a hundred years. In that one instant stereotyped 
forever, it will always be engraven on my mem- 
ory. Even in this abode of strange and peculiar 
faces there is not one to equal it. But where had 
I seen it? It was strangely familiar, yet I could 
not place it. Repulsive and even disgusting as it 
was, there were traces that told it had once been 
beautiful. 

But where could I have seen it? 

It was the face of a young woman of about 
twenty-nine. The eyes, of a deep blue color, were 
wide open; the mouth partly open, the lips with- 
ered and brown, and her black tongue protruded 
from between teeth broken and discolored. The 
nose was flattened out of shape by the recent pres- 
sure of the scalp. It was all horrible beyond de- 
scription. Yet, fascinated, I could not take my 
eyes from the face, so strangely familiar. Where, 
oh, where had I seen it? Unconsciously, in my 
eagerness, I thrust my head and part of my body 
from behind the curtain that I might get a better 
view. Then I saw the resemblance, so striking, to 
144 


CJe of Cbomonti 

the wax woman in the parlor; although on this 
distorted face there were traces of debauchery and 
abuse. As I looked, it seemed to become imbued 
with life. Was it possible that the eyelids quivered? 
No! It was only the draught that flickered the 
light over the dead face. My eyes were glued to 
the form — riveted on the face. Yes, those eyes 
surely returned my gaze, and the withered lips 
stretched in a mocking smile. I must have made 
some exclamation, for Doctor O’Brien looked up, 
and, as our eyes met, his face reflected the horror 
of my own. He swayed as he stepped forward 
with a low cry of surprise, extending his hands. 
They were covered with blood. I thought he was 
going to touch me, and, desperate and half-crazed 
with fear, I screamed. Shriek after shriek rang out, 
but there was no one to hear — Doctor O’Brien 
and I were the only living occupants of the house. 
I fled as he advanced, and, rushing back to my 
room, bolted the door, and throwing myself on the 
bed, covered my head with the pillows to stifle my 
cries. Alone, alone! oh, the agony of it! Soon 
I heard Doctor O’Brien knocking on the door im- 
ploring me to let him come to me, but in a par- 
oxysm of dread lest he should touch me, I rolled 
on the floor and pushed a chair against the door. 

145 


QL\)t iS-iTifl: of 0[r!)omonU 


In complete nervous collapse, alternately laughing, 
crying, and wringing my hands, I went into hys- 
terics, and at last, chilled and exhausted, I crept 
into bed as the clock in the hall struck three. 

The wind was blowing a perfect hurricane. Now 
it rose in a dismal wail ; then it fell to a sighing, sob- 
bing moan like the cry of a broken heart. The rain 
beat noisily against the windows, the trees creaked 
as they swayed to and fro in the gale, and the waves 
dashed on the shore with a loud, sullen roar. I 
lay shivering and listening to the storm, and when 
at last I fell into a disturbed sleep, it was only an 
exchange to dreams equally horrible. I could see 
the dead woman and Doctor O’Brien plainly. Once 
he stopped to kiss her, and she threw her mutilated 
arm around his neck. Again she, Doctor O’Brien, 
and I were sailing away in a small boat. He 
would not speak to me, but only to her; and my 
heart grew sore and ached, and I started forward, 
intending to push her overboard, when — the storm 
was past — the bright sun was shining and Hero 
was knocking at the door. I waked with a sense 
of relief that it was all a dream. Oh, no ! Not all. 
There was a dread reality, a presence in the 
house from which there was no escape, and at that 
thought I cowered again among the pillows, sick 
146 


(E^ie Eittff of CJomonlJ 


in body, mind, and soul. And this was the day 
I had longed for! But the importunate call at 
the door roused me in spite of myself. 

“ Missy, missy, hyah’s yo’ hot watah. Is yo’ 
sick? It’s ten o’clock. Don’ yo’ wan’ no brekkus? 
Uncle Silence kep’ it fo’ youse, an’ I’se gwine to 
fotch it up.” 

“ No, Hero, I want nothing; but stay! You 
may bring me some hot milk,” I said, just manag- 
ing to get to the door. But the effort proved too 
much, and when the boy returned I was again weak 
and faint among the pillows. “ Hyah, missy. My, 
but yo’ does look white,” he began, but he was 
pushed aside as Doctor O’Brien himself bent over 
me, holding a glass to my lips. 

“ This first, my child. There, that is it, now 
the milk. All of it, if you can,” and he watched 
me closely with finger on my pulse as I drank. 
“ Now you will sleep ; and Hero will stay with 
you until I see you again,” he said, as first looking 
deep into my eyes, he pressed down the lids with 
what seemed a hypnotic touch, and hardly had he 
gone softly from the room, before I passed into 
blissful unconsciousness. The afternoon sun was 
streaming through the window when I awoke, 
aroused Hero, who was asleep on the rug, and soon 

147 


of CSomottti 


refreshed by a bath I sought the sofa, enveloped in 
wrapper and shawl, too weak and languid to at- 
tempt a toilet. 

Hero came up with a bowl of broth, and Doctor 
O’Brien followed him with a beautiful basket of 
fruit. 

“ See! I must have anticipated your illness,” he 
said, “ for I bought this for you in New York. But 
you must have this powder first. You feel better? ” 
he questioned, after feeling my pulse. “Yes, I felt 
you would have been crazed without that sleep, 
and perhaps you will feel better still to-night, for 
a change of atmosphere. No, you need have no 
fears, now or ever,” he continued, seeing me shrink 
with an involuntary shudder. 

“ I have had a funeral this morning and dis- 
posed of all that could alarm or annoy you, and 
everything, even my studies and habits of life, shall 
change to conform to that one idea ; rather I would 
say my one study shall be to make you as happy as 
you have made me. Child, only trust me, and I 
can explain all.” My heart leaped forward to 
meet an assurance which quieted fears, the very 
existence of which he could have no knowledge. 
But my only words were, as I returned his earnest 
gaze: “Trust you? Yes — now and always.” 

148 


CJe Eiuff of CJiomonli 


“ Suppose we have tea in the library ? ” he said, 
in a lighter tone, “ the room you have decorated so 
beautifully. You need only exchange your own 
sofa for another, and Hero and I will manage the 
rest.” And soon I was ensconced on one side of 
the cozy fire and he in the armchair on the other. 

He gave me some drops at regular intervals, and, 
as evening closed in, poured tea and fed me as 
though I had been a child, and I, soothed and re- 
freshed, soon began to regain my natural tone. I 
could see that he recognized this, for he watched 
me less anxiously, and finally, after a dreamy silence, 
as we gazed into the fire, he said: 

“ There is much that I would say to you, and 
I think you are strong enough to bear with me now, 
while I tell you the story of a life and give an 
explanation that I feel is your due.” 


149 


Chapter XV 


leaned back and closed his eyes for a 
/ / moment, and then began : 

“ My family is a very old one — perhaps the old- 
est in the State of Maryland. The first day I met 
you in the garden, you may remember, I told you 
of its origin, so I will not dwell upon that now. 
But I did not then tell you of a curse, which is in 
our blood — insanity. In every generation thei:e have 
been members considered queer and erratic, with 
here and there one decidedly insane. Nevertheless, 
celibacy was rather the exception than the rule, for 
a race of men and women endowed with physical 
attributes rather above the ordinary, and possessed 
with a fair amount of worldly goods, had no diffi- 
culty at any period, as you may understand, in se- 
curing a suitable parti. And so people condoned the 
fatality, or else refused to believe that it was heredi- 
tary. Indeed, although appearing at times when 
least expected, it was often dormant through gener- 
ations, and thus, in one of these interregnums, 
reaching to my time, we came to persuade ourselves 
ISO 


d)e of ®I)omonli 


that the brain had forgotten the lesion, and that, 
with the intermingling of other blood, the taint 
had been altogether washed out. 

“ My early life was quiet and uneventful. I 
was esteemed a clever child, though not at all pre- 
cocious, and neither in boyhood nor youth did I 
evince any predisposition to excessive nervousness. 
I was just entering on manhood when I first ex- 
perienced an absorbing passion. Visiting a college 
friend in Baltimore, Claude Archer, I there met 
his cousin, Margaret Archer, and in the few weeks 
in which we were thrown constantly together, I 
became enamoured of her, and found to my great 
joy that my affection was reciprocated. I was 
wholly infatuated, and the day before we parted I 
spent the morning in search of a love-token. I 
knew exactly what I wanted, and at last I found 
it; a ring set with a single large ruby in the shape 
of a heart. As I turned to leave the store, a small 
rock-crystal locket set in gold, also heart-shaped, 
attracted my attention, and I bought it. 

“ I found Margaret in the morning-room. She 
was my first love, indeed we were both little more 
than boy and girl, and as I placed the ring on her 
finger my heart bounded to hear her expressions 
of delight. 


QLl}t Eittff of C!)omonli 


“ ‘ Margaret,’ I said, ‘ do you know the old 
legend of the ruhy when given as a betrothal ring? 
It retains its fire just so long as the lover’s heart 
continues true. But when his love wavers, be it in 
ever so slight a degree, the ruby pales, and if he is 
false it becomes white.’ I can see her now as she 
laughed and kissed my hand, which held her im- 
prisoned arm, and as she looked up into my face, 
I said: ‘Now, will you give me a love- token ?’ ” 

“ ‘ Gladly will I give you anything I possess ; 
and what shall it be ? ’ she questioned. 

“ ‘ Will you give me one strand of your hair, just 
one?’ I asked, as I showed her the locket. The 
space within was so very small that one long strand 
coiled would just fill it, and when suspended from 
my neck it would lie directly over my heart. 

“ ‘ I will do better,’ she said, as she took it from 
my hand. ‘ I will be even kinder than you think,’ 
and walking down the long, old-fashioned room, 
she stood with her back turned for what to me 
seemed an age, though in reality it could have been 
but a few moments. When she returned and 
handed me the locket, the hair was coiled in a ring, 
and in the center of it, upon the beautiful crystal, 
lay a drop of scarlet blood. ‘ See,’ she said, ‘ I 
have drawn it from my bosom directly over where 

152 


C!)e i^ing: of Cftomonlr 


my heart beats, and so long as I remain faithful 
to you it will continue red, but like the ruby, it, 
too, will pale should I become false. A drop of 
my blood, which is part of my life, is a much better 
love-token than a strand of my hair; but, see, you 
have both,’ and taking a slender gold chain from 
her throat, she attached the locket, and herself 
placed it around my neck. At breakfast we an- 
nounced our engagement, and received the congrat- 
ulations of the family. Claude was particularly 
effusive. 

“ I had just been graduated from the University 
of Virginia, and with the intention of entering the 
medical school of the University of Pennsylvania 
in the autumn, I came home, expecting to remain 
at Thomond until October. Margaret went North 
with her uncle’s family, making a round of the 
summer resorts. We wrote daily to each other, and 
as the engagement was sanctioned by both families, 
all went well. Early in September my father, my 
mother, and my sister, Geraldine, were all stricken 
with typhoid fever. My father first, then my 
mother, who nursed him, and next my sister. All 
died within a few weeks of each other, and I was 
left alone. I had been so absorbed in the care of 
the sick and in grief at my loss, that I did not 

153 


of d)omonli 

notice that Margaret’s letters had grown fewer and 
colder. 

“ One morning early, during the latter part of 
September, I awoke with a feeling of oppression 
over the region of my heart, and as I placed my 
hand there it came into contact with the crystal 
locket, which was so cold that it made me start. 
In the anxieties of the preceding weeks, I had not 
noticed it. Now I felt intuitively that something 
had happened to Margaret. I could not sleep again, 
and I arose and dressed before the sun had fully 
risen. The locket still lay cold upon my heart. I 
drew it out and beheld it clear and transparent 
as when I had first bought it. I could not believe 
the evidence of my eyes. I thought it must be some 
trick of the gray morning light. I struck a match 
in the vain hope that I might be mistaken. But, no, 
the crystal glistened in my hand like a dewdrop, 
ringed only with the coil of hair. I pinched myself, 
beat my head with my fists, hoping against hope 
that I was dreaming. But I was not. Could 
Margaret be false? No, a thousand- times no! I 
would not for an instant harbor so base a thought; 
I could not believe it. I wandered up and down the 
house like a madman until mail-time. Then I took 
the small boat and rowed out to meet the steamer. 

154 


Cl^e f3,in% Df Cftomonli 


The mail-bag was thrown me, and it took but a 
moment for me to tear it open. It contained a 
packet wrapped in white paper and securely sealed, 
a newspaper and a letter. The letter proved to be 
from Claude Archer, informing me in the coldest 
terms that three days before he had become the 
husband of Margaret. In conclusion he casually 
observed that she had discovered that she had 
always loved him, and regarded her little flirtation 
with me in the light of a joke. She returned the 
ring that I had so kindly given her, and requested 
me to destroy the locket. For further confirmation, 
he referred me to the newspaper. I opened it with 
trembling hands, and there found the notice of the 
marriage, together with the statement that the 
bride had lately come into possession of a large for- 
tune, bequeathed her by a relative of her mother. 
This, then, was the explanation! When Margaret 
was a dependent she had no attractions for Claude. 
Now that she was an heiress he had taken her as 
a mere appendage to a fortune, and she, young and 
inexperienced, had yielded to his persuasions. 
Fielding truly tells us that man is fire, wofhan tow, 
and that the Prince of Darkness often ignites 
them. 

He did not, could not love her as I loved her. 

15s 


CJe of C|)omonti 


That was an impossibility. My friends whom I 
trusted had both betrayed me. I sat stupefied, with 
the letter and paper in my hands, for hours. It 
began to rain; I was wet and cold, but I could 
only think and repeat to myself, ‘ Margaret mar- 
ried to Claude! Margaret false!’ It became in- 
tensely cold, and finally, roused from my lethargy 
by physical suffering, I started up, grasped the oars, 
and rowed toward home. When about two hun- 
dred yards from the shore, I stopped, well-nigh dis- 
tracted by grief, tore the paper and letter into frag- 
ments, and scattered them to the four winds of 
heaven. Then I took the locket from my neck and, 
opening it, applied my lips to the spot where the 
blood had formerly shone so red. Instantly it 
seemed as if I could feel that single drop speeding 
through my own veins like electricity along the 
wires. I threw chain and locket far out into the 
water. As it sank, rays o.f crimson and yellow 
light seemed to shoot from it. Without opening 
the packet containing the ring, I sent it with equal 
vehemence in the same direction. For a minute it 
floated and then before it sank the same phenom- 
enon occurred. I now hated Margaret Archer as 
intensely as I had loved her. I can tell you nothing 
of myself after this for a long period. 

156 


Cbe liins: of CbomonH 


“ It is as though I had lost some time out of my 
life. For weeks, for months, I had no knowledge 
of the flight of time. I have a dim recollection of 
sitting here before this library fire — alone — al- 
ways alone — in a lethargy from which one day 
I suddenly awoke. I rang the bell, and Uncle 
Silence answered. I asked what month it was. 
‘ March,’ he replied. March! I felt like Rip Van 
Winkle. I had slept, as it were, for six months. 
I learned from Uncle Silence that, alarmed at my 
long absence that eventful day in September, Uncle 
Shadow had started out at evening to search for 
me, and had found me lying in the boat, which had 
drifted ashore. All efforts to arouse me were fruit- 
less. I had acted as one who was asleep. I ate, 
drank, and slept, like an automaton, knowing noth- 
ing of what I was doing; and during all this time 
my two devoted servants had cared for me most 
tenderly. Now I remembered perfectly all that had 
happened before I became as one dead. Physically 
I felt as well as usual, yet now and again, just for 
a few moments, my brain became clouded. 

“ A package of new books had come for me, 
which, eager to distract my mind from my sorrows, 
I opened. Among them I found Mrs. Shelley’s 
‘ Frankenstein,’ and became so completely absorbed 

157 


Cl)e of Cl^omnnli 


that I could not lay it down until it was quite fin- 
ished. My dream of love had vanished, and I was 
alone. Why not experiment and learn for myself 
the secret of life, and in some object worthy of my 
love, ignite the vital spark? If it had been possible 
with so horrible a creature, more beast than human, 
why not with a figure composed of pure material? 
It seemed rational enough. 

“ In a few days I started for Philadelphia, leav- 
ing Uncle Silence in charge of Thomond, and noti- 
fying my lawyer, a friend of my father’s, in whom 
I had every confidence, I requested him to manage 
my business affairs during my absence. When I 
reached Philadelphia I entered the office of an emi- 
nent physician, and took up a special course in prep- 
aration for my next winter’s work in the lecture- 
room. I spent much time in dissecting, and devoted 
my spare hours to the studying of psychology. 

“ For more than three years I worked hard, 
spending my vacations abroad, visiting places of 
interest in the old world. 

“ I did not study, as do many medical students, 
merely for the sake of obtaining my degree, but I 
worked with a double purpose — to gain knowledge 
with a definite aim in view to drown pain. 

“ I was graduated with honors, but there was 

158 


Cbe of CbomonU 


no one to be proud — no one to take any interest 
in me. I made no friends during my college career. 
Human intercourse was intolerable to me. I 
shunned mankind ; and as for women — I never 
voluntarily looked on one. Immediately upon my 
graduation I went to Paris, and there, with mind 
unhinged and fixed upon the one idea of creating 
life, had one of the finest artists model for me, in 
wax, two figures — a child and a woman, after a 
photograph of Margaret Archer, which I found in 
my possession upon my recovery, and which I must 
have retained for this very purpose. The finest 
materials were used, for I was wealthy and spared 
no expense, neither in that nor in the expensive 
clothing with which the best dressmakers fitted out 
the two figures before I shipped them to Thomond. 
I returned home to bend all my energies to the one 
purpose of discovering the secret of life. I spent 
days and nights alone in the laboratory, dissecting 
birds, animals, and the dead bodies which from 
time to time I had sent me, making careful micro- 
scopic examinations and chemical experiments. 

For five years I labored steadily with but one 
end in view — the creation of living companions 
whom I could love, and, although I hated her, 
Margaret Archer was still my model; rather it 

159 


Ci)e of C!)0monlf 


was my ideal once incarnated in her that I sought 
to regain. The human soul must have some one to 
speak to, some ear in which to pour its inmost 
thoughts. It is so hard to bear one’s troubles alone, 
day after day and week after week ; it kills slowly, 
but surely. 

“Now and again I would imagine that I had 
discovered the secret, but when I attempted the 
practical application of my discovery upon the wax 
figures, I met only failure — a failure that was 
doubly pathetic, for their inanimate forms seemed 
to appeal to me in dumb despair for the life denied 
them; and in this common sorrow, my troubled, 
worn-out brain came to conceive an answering love, 
as it were, — a haven where my weary heart might 
rest, — and thus imagination accomplished for me 
what science failed to do. 

“ I had regarded them at first merely as wax 
figures, who might become living, breathing entities, 
but they grew in time to be truly the wife and 
child for whom I had longed, and, faithful to my 
ideals, I called the mother, Margaret, and the girl, 
Geraldine, for the sister I had lost. Margaret was 
a name dear to me in spite of all, and as years went 
on, I forgot Margaret Archer, the living woman, 
dead to me, or rather I found in this Margaret 
i6o 


C!)e lltns: of ®;))0moali 


O’Brien her personification, and therefore, to me, 
my living wife. 

“ Through all these years, I have lived on alone 
at Thomond, almost completely cut off from the 
outside world, with my good servants and my sculp- 
tured idealizations. The friends of my youth 
smiled at me, pitied me, and finally drifted away 
from me; so that I rarely left the island. Some 
called me ^ The Mad King of Thomond,’ and per- 
haps I deserved the name, for I realize that in my 
solitude I became more and more erratic. In one 
of these moods, I advertised for a governess for my 
daughter. Your uncle replied. His description of 
you — and allow me to say that he did not do you 
justice — attracted me. You came, and, as one 
happy day followed another, in proportion as I grew 
to know you better and to find pleasure in your 
society, I thought less and less of my peculiar 
family. 

“ Then I began to disregard them altogether, 
and finally to recognize them as worthless dolls. 
Indeed I should now regard the whole phantasy as 
something to be ashamed of, did I not recognize 
that they were simply the instruments with which 
my diseased imagination had been building up a 
shrine into which ” — and his beautiful eyes glowed 

i6i 


Clje of CljomontJ 


with ineifable tenderness as he leaned toward me — 
“you were to enter and dwell for evermore. You 
can never know what your companionship has been 
to me, but this much I can tell you, you have led 
me from darkness into light. Your youth, and 
strength, and purity, your intelligence and sim- 
plicity, your cheerfulness and quietude, have held 
for me an influence at once stimulating and quieting, 
bringing me gradually day by day to a healthier 
plane where I can say with confidence, Non sum 
qualis eram sed novus homo.* 

“ The unshrinking confidence with which you 
committed yourself to my guardianship kindled the 
slumbering fires of manhood, and called forth the 
best that was in me. Ah, Una, with your hand 
upon the lion’s mane — in your innocence you little 
knew the danger to yourself through which you 
were accomplishing much for me ! Enough that you 
have brought me to where, no longer a dreamer, 
I look back without regret upon the past; and to 
the future with a perfect knowledge of what I 
owe to you and to myself. 

“ It was this that took me to New York to 
consult with the best specialists in brain trouble 
and nervous disease, as to whether my condition 
might not be that of permanent recovery. Some 
162 


d)e 0f Ci)omonU 


of these men do not believe in cure where the 
trouble is hereditary. Others believe that much can 
be effected by a total change of environment and 
habit of life. After various consultations, they have 
given me the hope that if I place myself under treat- 
ment for the space of two years, I shall then have 
tided over all risk, and will have a more reason- 
able hope of no return of the malady. 

“ Some days before I left New York, I accom- 
panied a physician, with whom I was conversing, to 
a dissecting-room, and there, stretched upon a table, 
I found the lifeless form of Margaret Archer. Had 
I needed a test of my condition and of my feeling 
for you, surely I found it there, as I gazed upon 
what a blind infatuation had led me to believe was 
the incarnation of my ideal. I shuddered and 
turned away. And yet I could not leave her there. 
I must let my dead past bury its dead, and for old 
time’s sake give Christian burial to what had been, 
and might have been. While arranging for the 
possession and transference of the body to a ceme- 
tery, I gathered from those in charge some meager 
accounts, which, followed up, showed that Mar- 
garet and her husband had first become impover- 
ished, and then fallen into evil ways. He had been 
killed in a drunken brawl, and she, the victim of 
163 


Cl^e llinff of CbomonU 


\ 


disease brought on by the drug habit and dissipation, 
had died absolutely friendless in a charity hospital. 
Hardly had I completed my arrangements when an 
insensate desire seized upon me to discover if there 
might not be some brain lesion that would prove 
that she, too, had been laboring under some hallu- 
cination, and therefore not wholly responsible, when 
she deserted me so cruelly. Dominated by this idea, 
to which my intense interest in pathology gave 
added, if not primary, incentive, I decided to make 
the investigation in my own laboratory, and to have 
the interment here. That this might prove actual 
cruelty to you I did not realize until, unexpectedly, 
I came face to face with you at the steamer. There, 
overpowered by the conviction, I could hardly speak 
to you. This will explain our meeting, that must 
have seemed so cold to you — the meeting to which 
I had looked forward with such longing, through 
all the days of our separation.” He paused, and 
closed his eyes wearily. The silence was broken 
only by the dull ticking of the clock and the crack- 
ling of the wood fire. 

“ Well, frightful as it was — it was over. Would 
I could remove as readily all traces of it from your 
memory. You are better now, thank God, but what 
it might have brought upon you, I shudder to think 
164 


Ci)e of 5ri)omont( 


of. I can never forgive myself, nor can you ever 
forgive me unless — unless — you may value the 
assurance it brings to you, as to me, that you are 
the only woman I have ever loved. If you can 
find forgiveness in your heart, then I know that you 
love me. For only love divine can condone the 
pain and suffering I have brought upon you. Is 
it so? Have I guessed aright? Will you come to 
me — to be my very own? ” 

Instinctively we had both risen; I was speech- 
less, my heart fluttering like some frightened bird. 
Could it be true after all my fears — he loved me, 
and had loved me all this time? I cannot describe 
my emotions, except that through all there was a 
sense of ecstasy; I had reached the haven of de- 
light. 

Taking my face between his hands as he bent 
over me, he gazed full into my eyes, as he said, 
gravely and softly: “Constance, — we two stand 
to-night alone in the world, save that each belongs 
to the other. Is it not so, my beloved ? ” His eyes 
burned like flame topaz, and drew my own like a 
call, as I answered : “ I love you more than life 
itself. I have never loved before — I could never 
love again.” His arms opened wide and folded me. 
close. My arms were around his neck. Heart was 

165 


of S^lboiaontf 


beating against heart, and soul met soul, in a loving, 
tender kiss — the kiss of father and child, of lover 
and sweetheart, of husband and wife. 

We stood in silence — minutes — hours — weeks 
— months — years — centuries. We heeded not 
time. 

“ My queen — my princess — my life — my 
wife! In death, in Paradise, in heaven, nothing can 
separate us,” he murmured at last, as he held me 
from him for a moment, and again crushed me close 
to his heart. 

“ Are you sure that you love me? ” I asked, only 
that he might repeat his loving words, which were 
music to my ears. 

“ Love you ! 

“ ‘ The stars shall fall, and the angels be weeping 
Ere I cease to love you, my Queen, my Queen.’ ” 

Like diamonds and rubies, the words fell from 
his dear lips, as again he gathered me close to his 
heart. 

Then another question hovered on my lips : “ As 
you loved Margaret Archer?” I listened breath- 
lessly for his reply. 

My heart but shed its outer leaves to give you 
all the rest,’ ” he said. “ First love is but a fancy — 

i66 


CI)e Eing: of ®I)omont( 


deep or light — that tempers the heart. The second 
is strong, lasting, and deeply passionate. 

“ ‘ Even as one heat another heat expels, 

Or as one nail by strength drives out another, 

So the remembrance of a former love 
Is by the newer object quite forgotten.’ 

“ Dear heart, this is my ‘ Indian Summer,* 
though to-morrow is Christmas Day. Do you know 
Christmas has meant so little to me in the past? — 
but it comes to me now with a realizing sense of 
God’s love, for he has seen my loneliness, and has 
given me you, — my very own, — the sweetest and 
best of Christmas gifts. 

“ To-morrow must be the happiest, and the mer- 
riest, you and I have ever known — our first Christ- 
mas together in our own home. We will look back 
to it, I trust, through many happy years — an un- 
shadowed memory, untinged by a single regret. And 
now, my dearest, you are still pale. I must not let 
you overtax your strength. But stay! Shall we 
not, on the very threshold of the new life, destroy 
every trace of what we do not wish to bear with 
us? Suppose we make way with the shadows and 
break our dolls? What say you? But wait — one 
moment,” and lifting a candle from the mantel and 
167 




d)e of Cbomonti 

seizing a lap-robe, he passed quickly into the draw- 
ing-room. 

In a few moments he returned with two 
Indian clubs. “Come, will you help me? It is 
best so, believe me! You know you said you would 
trust me now and always.” With tender thought- 
fulness for me, he had enveloped the figures so com- 
pletely that I could not even guess where the stroke 
fell, as he wielded his club, and called on me to 
follow. 

At first I hesitated, and then as the old feeling 
of jealousy revived, I struck blow after blow with 
only the thought that I was freeing both him and 
myself from the thraldom of the past, and soon the 
cloth enveloped only clothing, and a mass of frag- 
ments. 

“ See, I have a box convenient,” and draw- 
ing one from under the sofa, he took out some 
books and crammed in the robe and its contents. 
“ Now I will tie down the lid, and put it out in the 
garden, and Uncle Silence shall bury the whole 
thing out of sight to-morrow.” Lightly he lifted 
and bore it to the end of the piazza, as I held open 
the door. He returned with a face brim full of joy 
and merriment as if enjoying a real boyish prank, 
and, seizing me in his arms, waltzed me back 

i68 


®^!)e Etng: of C^j^omonU 

to the fire, with a “ Hurrah, for a merry Christ- 
mas! ” 

“ Now our new life has begun, and I can, in very 
truth, wish you a merry Christmas, my darling. 
And merry it shall be. I have something nice to 
tell you and to show you, but not until to-morrow. 
You may sleep on that to-night and get your roses 
back. 

“ Come, I must be careful of my one treasure,” 
he said as, half-carrying me up-stairs, he left me 
with one long, lingering kiss at the door of my 
room. 

« ‘ Good night — farewell — my own true love, 

A thousand times, good night ’ ” — 

he sang as he went down the corridor, and as I 
closed my door I drank in eagerly tones, words, 
and their assurance of tenderness. Even his retreat- 
ing footsteps were music to me. Could it be true, 
and not a dream? Was I the same girl who had 
sunk, frightened and exhausted, upon those pillows, 
so short a time before? I turned to my mirror that 
reflected for the first time in my life a face radiant 
with happiness. 

With an instinctive feeling of gratitude intense, 
I sank upon my knees to give thanks, and my last 
169 


d)e of SnjomonH 


conscious thought as I dropped asleep was a prayer 
that I might prove indeed all that he had said I 
was to him, for surely he, too, had brought me from 
darkness into light. 


170 


Chapter XVI 


7 *" LINGER yearningly, tenderly, over these 
last pages, for I am loath to leave these com- 
munings with the happiest portion of my life. 

Chris’mus gif’, — Chris’mus gif’, missy! Ky’ah! 
Ky’ah! Ky’ah! Chris’mus gif’, missy,” and Hero’s 
rattle of the door-knob aroused me from a dream- 
less slumber to the consciousness that a merry 
Christmas, not a vision of the night, had really 
come. 

“ Lemme in, missy. I fix yo’ fiah. Make Chris’- 
mus fiah fo’ sho’. You’ll be cold, for it’s a-snowin’ 
hawd, and de groun’s all white a’ready.” A glance 
at the window proved him right. 

“ Wait a moment. Hero,” I cried, as I slipped 
the bolt, caught up some things I had for him, and 
hurried back to my pillows. The boy burst in with 
a whoop and a tumble — heels over head — that 
took him quite to the hearth rug. 

“ Ky’ah ! Ky’ah ! Dem fool niggers say, I can’t 
ketch yuh Chris’mus gif’. But I kno’d yo’d lemme 
171 


CI)e Einff of CftomoaU 


in,” he chuckled, as he piled up the light wood and 
corn-cobs on the warm coals he uncovered, and 
blew a blast until he had indeed a Christmas 
blaze. 

“ Here, you scamp! ” I called, and threw him a 
ball I had made and covered for him. He leaped 
like a monkey to meet it, and received full on his 
woolly head a blouse of gay-striped flannel that I 
sent after the ball. His eyes twinkled, and he 
looked indeed like some elfin thing as he pulled the 
sleeves around his neck and fairly danced with 
delight. 

“ My golly, missy, dis is fine. ’Tain’t fuh me, 
d’o? Hi! it’s good ’nuff fur Mars’ Brian.” 

“You think so, do you? Well, what do you say 
to this? ” and as he again scampered after his ball, 
I rolled in his way a round box that I had tried 
to shape like a drum and had filled with home-made 
candy. “ Hi! Bress my soul. Missy, yuh suttenly 
is good tuh me. Now I’se gwine tell Unc Silence 
I dun ketch ole’ Kriss hisself, sho’ ’nuff.” 

“Well, off with you now, while I dress!” 

Gathering up his treasures he started down the 
corridor, but before he reached the stair I heard 
Doctor O’Brien’s voice. 

“ Hello, you rascal ! What do you mean waking 
172 


C!)e of d)omonl( 


people up this time of night? Come here, and let 
me thrash you.” 

“ Laus, Mars’ Brian, dis ain’ night. It’s Chris’- 
mus mawnin’. Hi! hi! Lan’ o’ mercy! Ef he 
ain’ got a shootin’ crakah,” and between the shouts 
of the darkey and the explosion of the firecrackers, 
and the laughter of the master, bedlam seemed let 
loose in the corridor. 

“ Gimme, gimme, please, mars’. You kno’d yuh 
fotch ’em fo’ po’ niggah,” Hero pleaded. 

Well, here, take them along; and this, too,” 
and I heard the rattle of a tin horn and a drum. 
“ But first take this to Miss Mabie, and mind you 
don’t drop it.” 

“ No, sah. I’se not gwine drap it. Missy, missy, 
hyah’s a Chris’mus gif’ fo’ you’se.” I opened the 
door to take from him a large flat box, and hardly 
closed it before I heard him again. 

“ Hyah’s a nudder. Now yuh got mos’ much as 
me,” and, shouting with delight, he ran down- 
stairs to show his treasures. 

I opened one box to find a beautiful cap and 
cloak of fine crimson cloth, trimmed and faced with 
ermine, and heavily braided with gold in a sham- 
rock design. In the other was a breakfast wrapper 
of exquisite rose-tinted cashmere, embroidered down 

173 


C!)e of C!)omonli 


the front, which fell back, showing a daintily em- 
broidered ruffled petticoat. Soft lace finished the 
neck and loose sleeves, and a silken cord and tassels, 
the close-fitting waist. As I shook out the dress, 
I found beneath a pair of gray slippers embroidered 
in pink. Surely a morning costume that would 
appeal to any girl’s heart, and I was not long in 
proving that it fitted as perfectly as my riding-habit. 
Indeed the box bearing the name of New York’s 
great merchant, A. T. Stewart, was guarantee suf- 
ficient that all was entirely a la mode, 

A note fell from the folds, which ran: 

“ Constance, my darling : I would like to 
make this, our first Christmas together, the happiest 
you have ever known ; and in presenting these little 
gifts for your acceptance, there goes with them the 
assurance of my most sincere affection — both now 
and always. For my heart is a bank, filled with 
honest love and respect and admiration for you, 
upon whose resources your drafts can never be too 
large, as the accumulation is continuous, the capital 
inestimable, and the interest compounded many 
times. Yours for ever, 

“ Brian O’Brien. 

Christmas Day, i8 — 

174 


0^I)e J^ing: of S^JotnonH 


How I love to recall every moment of that day, 
and make in memory a reality of that which, when 
present, had seemed a very dream! The falling 
snow, the cold and frost outside, like my unhappy 
past, were shut away from me by the warmth and 
glow within. And I stood for a moment — as it 
were — apart, and viewed myself as a third person. 
Could it be my happy self whom that beautiful 
costume was inviting to prepare for a tender greet- 
ing? With a feeling that I wanted to defer and 
lengthen each precious moment, I lingered over my 
toilet, which, finally, my mirror told me was a 
success, and went slowly down the stairs with 
mingled emotions, curiously recalling the first time 
I had done so. Doctor O’Brien, standing in the 
same spot, with an eager, expectant look, sprang to 
meet me with an exclamation of approval, and led 
me into the embrasure of the window. 

“ My dear one, how beautiful 1 I knew it ; 
when I saw it I just pictured you in it, and I could 
not resist the temptation to prove it.” 

“ How can I ever thank you?” I said, turning 
away, confused, from his admiring gaze. 

“You cannot, dear. Love complete — entire — 
knows no sense of obligation incurred; only one of 
delicious interchange; for intense as the joy of the 

175 


C!)e of CbomonH 


giving thrill the sensitive nerves of receiving, you 
knovi^. But, perhaps,” looking laughingly into my 
eyes, “ you do not know whom you love! At least, 
you have not named him to me! Let me hear it 
now from your dear lips, this Christmas morning, 
for the first time ! ” and, with my head upon his 
breast, I murmured : “ I love you, my Brian 

Boru!” 

“ Sincerely? ” he whispered, his lips caressing my 
hair. “ No, dearest, I do not doubt you,” he said, 
in response to my reproachful glance. “ But I love 
the assurance that you love me sincerely — sine 
cera, without wax, as the old Latins used it — the 
sweetest of love words, that should be used only as 
the German du between lovers and close friends. 
And thus we seal our love,” he said, leaving a kiss 
on my lips, and on my finger the ring that I have 
given you. 

“For me?” I exclaimed. 

“ For none other,” he answered, and he held me 
from him for a moment, as if to contemplate my 
childish delight. 

“ Una — Constance, you are radiant, and it 
makes me so happy to see you so. Yes, my own, 
the ring is priceless, but there is nothing too costly 
for you to possess, if my love can compass it, believe 
176 


Jcltuff of ®|)otnonli 


me,” and in an ecstasy he folded me again in his 
arms and covered my face with kisses. 

“ Brekfus ready, Mars’ Brian ! Laws, wha’s he 
gon’? I knowed he cum out hy’ah,” said Hero, 
looking about the piazza, as we emerged from the 
window’s kindly seclusion, and, hand in hand, glee- 
fully as two children, passed into the dining-room, 
and were seated before he saw us. 

“ Hurry up. Hero ! Why are you keeping us 
waiting for muffins ? ” called his master, and the 
boy came in with eyes round as saucers. 

“ Fur de Lawd’s sake! How yuh done get hy’ah, 
anyhow? An’ me out dah on de po’ch wid yuh, 
an’ not see yuh cum in ? ” 

“ Well, we’re here, and you scurry along there,” 
laughed Brian, pointing to the kitchen door. 

We lingered long at table, Brian drinking innu- 
merable cups of coffee, he said for the pleasure of 
seeing me pour it; and I more than happy in in- 
dulging his lightest fancy. Although we had sat 
opposite to each other for months, yet in this day 
of new life, everything seemed new. When at 
last we rose and sauntered to the window, the rain 
had ceased falling and the clouds were breaking 
away. 

“ A good omen, Constance 1 Let us accept it ! 

177 


Clje llina: of CJomonU 


We will bask in Christmas sunshine after all, and 
you shall have your first sleigh-ride. Is it not so 
— did you not tell me once that you had never 
been in a sleigh? You child! You do not know 
what you have lost! Never mind, my darling,” he 
added, in a tender undertone, “ that is only one of 
many things that will be made up to you. For it 
shall be my life happiness to teach you to forget 
the sorrows of the past. Now I have to see my 
men. The sleigh will be at the door at eleven. 
You must wrap up, you know, for the Chesapeake 
winds are piercing, and your new cap and cloak 
will be the very thing.” 

How rapidly time goes when one is happy! I 
suppose I must have lingered in delighted survey 
of my new possessions, but it did seem I had only 
put my room in order, changed my dress, and 
donned my beautiful cloak and cap, when the merry 
sound of bells warned me that I must hasten down. 
Brian turned as I reached the door, and bent his 
knee. 

“ The Queen of Thomond in royal ermine,” he 
said, “ and I her loyal servitor to do her bidding! ” 

“ Nay, your Majesty,” I laughingly replied, “ in 
olden times, the queens were ever ready to obey 
their lords’ behests, and such will I be ever.” 

178 


^!)e of Cbomonti 


Lightly he lifted me to the velvet cushions of the 
jaunty little cutter, and tucked the robe around 
me, while the horse, impatient, shook his head and 
jangled the merry bells, until, giving him full rein, 
we were off like the wind. I fairly caught my 
breath. 

“ Why, you never told me it was like this! Why, 
it is faster than sailing or horseback-riding.” 

“ Yes, but not better.” 

“ I don’t know, but it is delicious,” and I cuddled 
down behind his shoulder to escape a passing breeze. 

“ Somehow it never looked like this in the city.” 

“ Oh, no ! There’s no chance for fast driving in 
town. Now see,” and we emerged from the woods 
and took an open road across the fields; and truly 
I thought no train ever went faster. The sun was 
bright and the air crisp and cold; and altogether 
the sense of exhilaration indescribable. 

“ Such a Christmas,” I exclaimed, after we had 
been out some time. “ A new experience every 
hour! ” 

“ Well, there are yet others,” Brian replied. 
“ We will go home now, and I want you after 
dinner to help me with something for our men.” 

“ I think it has done you real good,” he said, as 
he lifted me from the sleigh to the steps. “ You 
179 


^()e llinff of C()omontr 


have your roses back again. But come now and 
get thoroughly warmed,” and he drew an armchair 
to the fire. “Ah, see! Uncle Silence has doubly 
provided for that,” and from a bowl of apple-toddy 
on the table beside us, he filled the quaint, long- 
stemmed, green punch-glasses. 

“ Drink, my lady fair! Here’s a pledge to health 
and happiness through many a merry Christmas.” 

“ Again something new,” I said, after sipping the 
strange, delicious compound. 

“ This is both old and new. There is hardly an 
old homestead in Maryland that does not prepare 
its apple-toddy, with the fruit-cake and plum-pud- 
ding for Christmas, and Uncle Cotton is famous 
for all three; so this is prime. 

‘ Something old 

And something new, 

Something borrowed 
And something blue,’ 

as the old adage runs. 

“ Yes, you shall have all that betokens good luck, 
my bride,” he said, tenderly. I can feel now the 
deliciousness of warmth and comfort before that 
glowing fire after the exhilarating drive, as, throw- 
ing back my wraps, I leaned back and listened to 
i8o 


(E^ie Eing: of ©SomDiiH 


Brian’s accounts of Christmas in his boyhood, and 
of the sister of whom I had heard him speak but 
seldom. “ Whom I missed always,” he said, “ until 
I found you. 

“ Now I do want to have a little surprise for our 
people, and am ready for any suggestions of your 
fertile imagination. I have already unpacked and 
made some preparation, under lock and key, else it 
would not be a surprise. Come and see,” and, un- 
locking the door, we went into the drawing-room, 
where he showed how he had fastened securely in 
a box a small holly bush, aglow with red berries. 
“ The thought occurred to me while I was in the 
city,” he said, “ and I got a lot of these,” showing 
some bright-colored tapers, boxes of candy, and 
sheets of gilt and colored papers. 

“ The very thing,” I exclaimed, fingering the 
papers. “ I can make you roses and stars. I can cut 
the Betsy Ross star as she did for the flag, with a 
single clip of the scissors.” 

“ That will be fine,” he answered. 

“ Now look at these,” and, pleased as two chil- 
dren, we went over the purchases, anticipating the 
pleasure they would give to the recipients. There 
had been a distribution that morning, he told me, 
of heavy clothing and shoes received from his com- 

i8i 


!Ring: of ©bomcnU 


mission merchant in Baltimore. But here were 
warm gloves and caps, gay bandannas and scarfs, 
and “ b’iled shirts,” high white collars, and brass 
earrings, dear to every darkey’s heart. 

“ Now here is something I want you to wear 
to-day,” Brian said, when we went back to our 
seats before the fire, and, opening a box, he dis- 
played a wide embroidered collar, which, by sug- 
gestion, at once drew my eyes to the portrait above 
us. 

“ Yes,” he said, noting my glance, “ it is just 
that. I have always fancied I saw a likeness. In 
fact, you are more like my mother than my sister 
Geraldine. Not only that, but there is a something 
in your personality that so affects me, that did I 
accept the doctrine of transmigration, I would be 
tempted to believe that I had found that which I 
had loved best in the past, rejuvenated and rein- 
carnated in you. Will you gratify a fancy I have 
to see if costume will not accentuate this likeness? 
I think we might find a dress in the trunks up- 
stairs. Come, let us look,” and he led the way up 
to the attic rooms. There, after going through 
several trunks, we found in an old chest of 
drawers a dress of pale green silk, with surpliced 


182 


CI)e Etng of C!)omottli 


neck, which seemed as if made to wear with just 
such a collar. 

I took it to my room, and, before donning it, I 
first combed and looped my hair, parting it on the 
left side in the fashion of the portrait; a fashion, 
by the way, which, as pleasing to him, I have con- 
tinued ever since. Arranging the collar with a 
rose-colored ribbon, I rejoined Brian, who was im- 
patiently pacing the hall. He paused, eying me 
with a look of critical satisfaction as I came slowly 
down the stair. 

“ There,” he queried, placing a small mirror in 
my hand, as he led me to the portrait, “ do you not 
yourself see a resemblance?” and I smilingly as- 
sented. 

“ Yes, you are wife, sister, and mother all in one 
to me,” he said, “ and, strangely enough, I feel at 
times like a father to you.” 

“ I always have looked older than my years,” 
I replied ; “ I sometimes think because ‘ I failed to 
learn love’s holy earnest in a pretty play, I thus 
got overearly solemnized.’ ” 

“ While I,” he answered, “ who have lived so 
long in vain, and now find in you the ideal I sought, 
will follow that clue back through the maze to 
retrieve the years I have lost. I have feared at 

183 


^f)e of CJomonO 


times that, because I was so much older, I wronged 
you in seeking your love, but we meet in reality 
on an equal plane, and our love is the love of a 
mature life forever renewing itself. Like those 
whom the gods love, we will die young because we 
shall never grow old. 

“If anything could bring you closer to me this 
does,” again recurring to the portrait and moving 
backward unconsciously. 

“ Evidently,” I replied, in an amused tone, indi- 
cating the distance to which he had retreated, which 
had not been equalled at any time during the day, 
when we were together. 

“ You naughty child,” he said, catching me in his 
arms. “ Don’t you see I am considering your pose ? 
For I must have your miniature painted in just this 
costume, and precious it will be to me. At once the 
fulfilment of my dream and the reminder of this, 
our merry Christmas.” 

“ And am I not to have a picture of you ? ” I 
asked. 

“Yes, — you shall have this,” and opening 
a drawer, he brought me a photograph, somewhat 
faded, of a young man in his early twenties. 
“ Taken in fancy costume after a masquerade ball,” 
he explained. I looked at it intently, and after 
184 


of CJomonU 


some time comparing it with him, “ It is you ! ” I 
cried, “ when the shadows are brushed away.” 

“ You have hit it exactly,” he said, “ and this 
hand,” kissing the one that wore his ring, “ will do 
the brushing. But a truce to philosophy on Christ- 
mas Day. Hero has already bidden us twice to 
dinner, and Uncle Cotton will be put out if his 
soup grows cold in waiting.” Truly it was well 
worth taking while hot, for never did soup taste 
so good; and such oysters! “ Only to be gotten in 
Chesapeake waters, and only to be cooked by a 
Maryland darkey,” laughed Brian. 

Indeed I could have applied the latter part of his 
remark to all the succeeding courses. That every- 
thing should have been raised on the place, and 
prepared by these trained servants, with but little, 
if any, supervision, was truly wonderful. 

The fine old ham, — boiled in sherry, — the roast 
turkey, with oyster stuffing and celery sauce, and 
the well-cooked vegetables, were all delicious. A 
blazing plum-pudding with wine sauce was fol- 
lowed by apples and nuts, and our glasses were re- 
filled at each course with rare old Madeira. Uncle 
Silence and Hero, moving noiselessly, were appar- 
ently as fond of the serving as was Uncle Cotton 

i8s 


Cl&e Eing: of SC!)flm0nli 


of the cooking of this Christmas dinner, which was 
to them the event of the year. 

The table damask was spotless and exquisitely 
laundered ; the silver, with much polishing, shone 
as did the mahogany when the cloth was removed 
for the nuts and wine. Indeed it was all almost 
like a feast in some Aladdin palace; and yet what 
must not have been the knowledge and forethought, 
the firmness and patience and kindliness in training, 
that had brought about such results. For it was 
not a compulsory, but a loyal servitude that was 
evidenced in all these details. It was with very 
mingled emotions that I presided at that table, 
which, together with my dress associated with 
Brian’s words, somehow gave me a sense of a dual 
personality; and I felt within me that gentle pres- 
ence, into the fruits of whose labors we, her chil- 
dren, had entered, and were so thoroughly enjoying. 

Lost in this meditation, I did not notice that our 
conversation had lapsed, until, my eyes meeting 
Brian’s, I recognized that we were one in thought. 
Smiling, we rose simultaneously, and as we passed 
to our trysting-place in the bay-window, he whis- 
pered, lovingly: “ I would say, if this be dreaming, 
let me dream alway, did I not realize how priceless 
is this waking realization of soul answering soul. 

i86 


C!)e of S^ljomonti 


Oh, Constance, I feel that at last I have passed 
through the desert sands of loneliness to reach the 
gushing springs of an oasis of sympathy. Each 
moment with you loosens the chain of a whole year’s 
servitude to pain, and it is thus I travel back to 
youth and you, my beloved.” 

“ Until you become like that picture? ” I queried. 

“ Yes and no,” he answered. “ For I feel I need 
both the freshness of youth and the ripeness of age 
to fit me to be the guardian of such a treasure.” 

“ Truly,” I said, “ there is much that won upon 
me in the early days of our acquaintance that I 
would not have you lose nor exchange for much that 
is youthful.” And I thought of the absolute purity 
and high tone of character, and of the mingled dig- 
nity and courtesy of manner that had through all 
these months of our peculiar relationship assured 
to me a protection, at once fatherly and brotherly. 


187 


Chapter XVII 


‘‘^tHALL we begin our work?” he said, pres- 
/ijently, unlocking the drawing-room door and 
stirring and replenishing the fire; and soon I was 
busy making stars and roses, while he tied boxes 
and wired tapers on the tree. We covered the box 
in which it was fastened with a rug; on this I 
heaped some of the heavier gloves and scarfs, hang- 
ing the bright handkerchiefs and ties on the 
branches, where berries, roses, and stars made a 
bright setting. A large silver Christmas star was 
placed on the topmost twig, with a circle of tapers 
below to make it glisten. 

How every detail of that one glorious merry 
Christmas fastens itself in memory, and I can see 
that tree as perfectly now as then. 

The early winter twilight had already closed in 
before all was completed ; and we were at last able 
to draw up our chairs and enjoy the restful fire- 
light after our busy afternoon. 

Quickly the hours sped, and all too soon, it 
seemed. Hero called us to tea. 

i88 


CJe of C 60 mont( 

How well do I recall the cheerful aspect of that 
tea-table — the soft glow of the lamps, the rich 
mahogany, reflecting the beautiful old silver, dainty 
glass, and china — and the all-pervading atmosphere 
of a refined home; and in Brian’s face such an 
expression of peace and quiet satisfaction, that I 
thought, already the shadows are passing. 

“ By the way,” he said, “ we must have some 
egg-nog. It would never do to let Christmas pass 
without making egg-nog. Uncle Silence, when you 
bring that loaf of fruit-cake, leave some eggs and 
cream on the table, and after you clear off, I will 
show Miss Mabie what we do at Christmas times 
in Maryland.” 

Such fun it was! He soon found I could break 
and separate eggs better than he could. Then I 
watched him beat and stir in the brandy and cream, 
while I beat the whites to a froth. When it was 
finished he bore the quaint old Canton bowl to a 
table in the holly-decked archway of the hall, while 
I followed with the glasses, and cut the rich black 
cake. 

“ There’s an old-time Maryland Christmas set- 
out,” Brian said. “ But, hark, what is that? 
Christmas Waits I Listen ! ” and nearer and nearer 


189 


Cbe J^tng: of C!)omonli 


came the sound of voices, chanting in the rhythmic 
melody peculiar to Southern negroes: 

“ Let us wauk in de light, 

Wauk in de light, 

Wauk in de light, 

In de light of Gawd.” 

A pause, and some merry chuckling, and then I 
recognized Hero’s voice among the others singing 
out: 

“ At Crismus play an’ hab good cheah, 

Fo’ Crismus cum but onst a yeah. 

“ Possum fat to feed ma deah, 

Fo’ Crismus cum but onst a yeah, 

“ Tatah’s hot an’ cidah cleah, 

Fo’ Crismus cum but onst a yeah. 

“ Rabbit stew an’ simmon be’ah, 

Fo’ Crismus cum but onst a yeah.” 

“ Come in,” called Brian, in response to a ponder- 
ous knock; the door swung open, admitting a band 
of mummers, and I found I was only one of a party 
of masqueraders. Such costumes! and how did they 
manage to get them up? There was an old woman 
with cap and spectacles; a girl with a hat and 
curls of long wood shavings pinned on under it; 
a solemn-looking preacher, buttoned up in a long 
190 


CI)e Etna: of C^omonH 


coat, with broad white collar and high silk hat, 
was arm in arm with an Indian; a grotesque-look- 
ing animal, with a dog’s head and face, had a body- 
formed of a bulfalo-robe — and the rest were 
equally curious. Brown paper, chicken feathers, 
charcoal, and hearth-paint had evidently been 
largely used in the manufacture of the false faces. 

With suppressed chuckles, the band marched 
round, saluting us in dumb show, as they passed; 
then the preacher suddenly produced a banjo and 
the Indian began to pat juba, while the others broke 
into a hilarious “ hoe-down,” in which the flings of 
the ‘‘women folks” won such applause as: 

“ Go it, mammy — git along wid yuh, Sally — 
fring ’em roun’, gals! ” 

“ Just keep it up until we come back,” called 
Brian, as the dance waxed fast and furious, and, 
signalling to me, we slipped into the drawing-room, 
and quickly lighted the tapers on the tree. 

“ Now bring your fiddles, boys, and come and 
dance here.” 

Instantly there was a tuning of fiddle-strings, 
and to a merry tune, the playing and singing inter- 
rupted with many a delighted ejaculation, they 
pranced around the tree. 

“ Now a waltz, Bedfoot,” and the time changed, 
191 


dL'Ift of ®^!)omont[ 

and, as the dancers fell back, Brian caught me up, 
and we swung to the rhythmic measure round the 
tree, out the door, up and down the hall and draw- 
ing-room, until, flushed, panting, and exhausted, I 
sank, protesting, on a davenport. 

“ Now let’s see who Kriss Kringle has remem- 
bered ! I’ll read the names, and you hand around,” 
softly and tenderly, “ Constance.” 

The expressions of gratitude and delight as they 
gathered around me were really pathetic. 

They are a grateful, simple-hearted race ! “ Dat 

sho’ly am nice! My! Jack Frost won’t git me wid 
dat on, fo’ sartin.” “ Sally,” who held up his skirts 
for his “ gif’,” came near repeating the somersault 
of the morning when I dropped in it not only 
another box of candy, but a brand-new pocket-knife. 

“Now Miss Mabie will give you some more 
‘ Chrismus,’ ” said their master, and they followed 
me out in the hall, and gathered around the punch- 
bowl, where each received a generous glass of egg- 
nog and a big piece of cake. 

“Tank yuh. Mars’ Brian! Tank yuh, missy.” 

“You suttinly is good. My! But yuh does look 
like de ole mistis, sho’ ’nuff, in dat dar frock. Mars’ 
Brian, dis is jes’ lak de ole-time Crismus, and missy 
sho’ly is de ole mistis come back agin.” 

192 


Cje Ming: Cbomonli 


“ Do' you think so, boys? Well, you must have 
another glassful to drink her health round the tree, 
after you sing your Christmas song once more.” 

So again they circled round 'with : “ Crismus cum 
but onst a yeah.” Then just as they raised their 
glasses, Brian said : 

“ Yes, boys, you’re right! The ‘ mistis ’ has come 
to us again,” taking my hand. “ That is what 
‘ young missy ’ has promised me she will be. So 
we will drink the health of ^ young mistis.’ ” 

“ Mistis and marster! Bress de Lawd! De King 
and de Queen ob Thomon’,” was the voiced re- 
sponse in tones of delight as the glasses were 
emptied. 

“ Boys,” said their master, “ I can’t tell you how 
glad I was you sang, ‘ Let Us Walk in the Light of 
God.’ Because, you know, your old mistress loved 
to hear you sing it. You know she used to talk 
to us about the Christmas star that was the light 
that came from God at Christmas-time, and that’s 
why we have the stars on the Christmas tree. 
Now, before we say good night, I think we will 
remember the dear old mistress by saying the pray- 
ers she loved to say with you,” and the grave, 
solemn tones followed his through the “ Our 
father” and the old Christmas prayer: 

193 


t 


fe-inff of CbomonB 


“ O God, who, by the leading of a star didst 
manifest thy only-begotten Son; . . . Mercifully 
grant that we, . . . may after this life have the 
fruition of thy glorious Godhead; through Jesus 
Christ our Lord. Anient 

“Good night. Mars’ Brian, — good night, young 
mistis’. De Lawd bress yuh bof’. My, we’s glad 
yuh gwine to stay! ” And, with a ducking of heads 
and scraping of feet in true darkey fashion, they 
passed out, and again the voices came back to us, 
this time in the refrain of the Christmas hymn — 
“ While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks.” 

Standing close to the window, we looked out upon 
the stars, and listened until we could just catch the 
closing words: 

“ Peace on earth, good-will to men, 

Begin and never cease.” 

“ There could not have been a sweeter ending 
to our happy day — nor a brighter omen for our 
new life, dear heart,” he said, with his lips upon 
my forehead. “ And now you must sleep to-night. 
Will you promise me, my dear one? Remember, 
it is not only your lover who pleads, but your phy- 
sician who commands.” 


194 


C!)e of C!)omonti 


“ No fear of my disobeying,” I answered, as, 
slipping from his embrace, I sped lightly up the 
stairs. 

“ Happy hearts know only dreamless slumber, 
so I can promise not even to dream of you until 
to-morrow. And so good night.” 

There was once a woman who went out to look 
for happiness. She searched vainly for many years 
and thought she had at last found it, but it withered 
away like the ephemeral rose-wreaths of Astarte, 
and left only ashes in her hand — the ashes of a 
dead love. But in the last flicker of the fire of love 
came compensation in the shape of a little baby 
girl, and to her was transmitted the legacy of 
sorrow. But she also found after many years — 
happiness, and it, too, withered away as the flowers 
before the raging prairie-fires, and she but put her 
lips to the cup of joy, when it was dashed from her. 
What is happiness? It is divine — it is Satanic! 
Sometimes it is eternal — sometimes ephemeral. 

I once thought it was mine own, but — but — 
happiness smiled at me with a beautiful face, on 
which the noonday sun shone full and bright; but 
when the afternoon came on and the shadows grew 
apace, why, happiness was ugly ; it was sadness, not 

195 


Clbe of Cbomonli 


happiness, that confronted me; sadness with the 
wrinkled visage of age, not the smooth skin of 
youth — and I wonder — I wonder — how I won- 
der — now what do I wonder ? I forget ! My 
head and heart are tired, and I must rest awhile. 
Amen ! 

I have given the above just as it left Mrs. 
O’Brien’s hands, and from it the reader can easily 
comprehend the disordered condition of her poor 
diseased brain. — M. W. Barr. 


196 


Chapter XVIII 


^^EATED next day with my hand in Brian’s, 
recalled that light-hearted “until to-morrow.” 
It was well I had not realized that to-morrow was 
to bring the certainty of our speedy parting, else 
that dreamless, refreshing slumber would not have 
been mine. 

“ I knew it,” Brian said, “ and it was to that end 
I devised and planned all, that your Christmas joy 
should be unmarred by a single throb of pain. It 
was a perfect day, was it not? And from my heart 
of hearts, I can reecho that ‘ Bress de Lawd.’ Now 
let us be brave and make the most of the days that 
are left to us, and the week shall be as one long 
Christmas day, in our memory forever.” 

And indeed it is with me now ; as long as I dwell 
only upon that happy, happy time, I seem to be in 
a dream in which I live again each blissful moment 
with him. It is the sudden awakening to the sense 
of the nevermore, that makes my poor brain dazed 
until I grow unconscious for weeks, of everything 
around me. Oh, those walks and rides and talks, 
197 


d)e l^tng: of C!)omoaIi 


in which each word revealed a sense of oneness and 
confidence and affection, such as only the first man 
and the first woman must have known in the primal 
Eden ! 

“ How can I leave thee, Paradise! ” It was well 
that we had many matters of business to occupy us. 
Brian took me all over the farm, that was to be 
left in my charge, with Uncle Columbus for my 
overseer, and we went into every minutia of ar- 
rangement, he even writing the letters for me to 
send, that were to put me in communication with 
his lawyer, his commission merchants in Baltimore, 
and the firms with whom he had business dealings. 

To guard against even a possibility of loss to 
myself, and to secure to me the legal reversion of 
his estate, in the event of any mishap to him, he 
told me he was sure a marriage ceremony would be 
necessary, and this, and the signing of his will, 
would be his last acts before leaving Thomond. 
This involved a trip to Chestertown for conference 
with both clergyman and lawyer, and as every 
moment was precious to us both, he thought, if the 
weather moderated sufficiently, I might go with 
him. 

By one of those sudden changes peculiar to 
that tidewater district, the following Monday — 
198 


®j)e Etng: of SUJomonU 


the thirtieth — proved all that could be desired ; 
clear and mild, the air almost balmy, so that Brian 
decided that, with wraps and robe, there could be 
no risk for me in the sail for which I longed, and 
which I thoroughly enjoyed. My cap and cloak 
again proved all-sufficient, although Brian, with 
tender solicitude, would make me slip down under 
the buffalo-robe, if the breeze freshened in the least 
while we were tacking up the river. 

Ah! that sail is one of my sweetest memories! 
There was all the charm of our boating-trips of the 
summer and fall, brightened and intensified by our 
closer relation — the crown of joy! And when I 
tried in vain to express it, “ My darling,” he said, 
“ it is our ‘ Indian Summer.’ ” 

His care of me was evidenced in such thought- 
ful detail, that he again went over the list he had 
made out with me for some shopping we were 
to do, both for the house and my own personal 
needs. Leaving the boat in the care of Uncle 
Shadow, we called first at the lawyer’s office, 
where Brian made an appointment to see him 
within an hour, and then at the rectory. 

I rather dreaded the visit to the clergyman, 
and it was with a sense of relief that I learned 
there had recently been a change, and I was not 
199 


SCbe Eiuff of CJomonU 


to meet my former visitor. The new rector 
was a kindly old man, who evinced the greatest 
sympathy and interest when Brian introduced me 
as his ward, who had consented to become his 
wife, and explained that, as he had been ordered 
by his physician to a sanitarium, circumstances 
obliged us to hasten our marriage, which we both 
particularly desired should take place at Tho- 
mond on the day of his departure. 

Brian was therefore forced to request him to 
come to us on New Year’s Day. A boat would 
be in readiness at noon — so as not to conflict 
with his other engagements — to carry both him 
and the lawyer to Thomond, and after the cere- 
mony he could return to Chestertown on the 
steamer from Baltimore. 

Leaving me at the stores, where he started me 
on my shopping-list, Brian, occupied with his 
lawyer for over an hour, rejoined me in time for 
our homeward sail in the full glow of the after- 
noon sun. 

His conference had been more than satisfactory, 
for not only could the lawyer — Mr. Wallace — 
come, but, as he was going to Baltimore on that 
day, he would accompany him to Barnum’s Hotel, 
where he was to meet his physician. This was an 


200 


2D()e Etna: 0f S^IjomanU 


immeasurable relief to me, for I had dreaded the 
effect of his going away alone. 

Brian produced and showed me the marriage 
license with great glee, saying: “Now with this 
legal document the deed is half-done.” We had 
a merry picnic, Brian wrapping me up in the robe, 
and feeding me on cake and candy, fruit and nuts. 
It had grown quite cold, however, before we landed, 
and we were glad to exchange the sunset for the 
glow of the lamp, the hissing urn, blazing fire, and 
cheerful atmosphere that made the supper that 
awaited us doubly inviting. 

Yet again I say the memory of that day will 
abide with me forever! 

I awoke the next morning with the very natural 
thought : 

“To-morrow is my wedding-day — and what 
shall I wear?” A problem, however, which later 
was quickly solved. 

“‘Oh, dear, what can the matter be?’” said 
Brian, coming into the library to find me in a 
brown study. “ Shall I guess? It is the momen- 
tous question of a woman’s life! What shall be 
my wedding-dress? I knew it,” he laughed, taking 
my face between his hands, “ but I have already 
settled that to my satisfaction.” 


201 


Sriie of CJomonti 


“ Which ? ” I questioned. “ My white dress, or 
would you prefer the one I wore last evening?” 

“No — though I would like you to wear that 
again this evening. But for the ceremony, we 
might find another. Can’t you think?” 

“In that chest, you mean? Well, it must be 
like the mother’s bag in ‘ Swiss Family Robinson.’ 
It meets every occasion.” 

“ We know it holds a wedding-dress. Only this 
time we will have it entire, and the Queen of Tho- 
mond will wear her veil as well as her jewels.” 

“ Oh, I remember; the dress I wore at the ball! ” 

“ Yes; we will get it at once so that it will be in 
readiness.” 

With what mingled emotions did I again shake 
out the satin folds, and arrange the filmy lace, won- 
dering if the bride of that far-away yesterday could 
have been any happier than would be the bride of 
to-morrow. 

As the twilight gathered, I again put on the 
green dress and embroidered collar, as Brian had 
requested, and joined him at supper. The sense of 
its being our last together was ever present, and 
although we tried to chat, it was a failure, and we 
had but little appetite, and even the terrapin and 
oysters — the foretaste of the wedding-feast — that 


202 


C!)e of Cftomoati 


Unde Cotton had provided, could not tempt us. 
Soon we found ourselves arm in arm, pacing hall 
and drawing-room, or seated, gazing into the fire, 
content only in the consciousness of being together. 

At last I drew him to the piano, where it seemed 
to me he poured out his very soul in music, and 
when he struck a few chords of “ Indian Summer ” 
and then sang “ My Queen,” my whole frame shook 
with uncontrollable sobs. 

“What!” he exclaimed. “Tears on the eve 
of your bridal? This will never do.” 

“ Oh,” I sobbed, with my head on his shoulder, 
“ this parting is so bitter. I cannot let you go — I 
cannot live without you.” 

“ Hush, dear one,” he whispered, soothingly. 
“You must not think of that to-night; the time 
will soon pass, and remember that even though ab- 
sent, always I am watching and caring for you, 
until the day of glad reunion. 

“ Now it grows late, and I am going to send you 
to your room, while I stay here and lull you to 
sleep with music. 

“ Good night, my own I ” and with one long 
kiss I left him, and the last thing I heard were the 
tender chords, giving the sweet assurance of a love 
that never slumbers. 


203 


Chapter XIX 


7 ” CAN see him now with the glad love-light in 
his beautiful eyes on that New Year’s Day — 
our wedding-day — as I came in my bridal-dress to 
meet him in the upper hall — my king, my Brian 
Boru. 

I thrill again to the exquisite tenderness of 
glance and tone as, first on bended knee, he kissed 
my hand, and then clasped me in his arms with : “ I 
come to claim my queen ! ” 

As slowly we descended the stair together, I 
noticed that the servants were gathered in an eager 
group, respectful and attentive, at the end of the 
hall. The lawyer — who was to fill the part of 
guardian in the ceremony and give me away — and 
the clergyman, in his white robes, awaited us under 
the green arch, just within which we paused, almost 
beneath the portrait, whose presence seemed at once 
a welcome and a benediction. 

Hardly were the words spoken that bound us 
together, when Brian said : “ Constance — darling. 
204 


C!)e Uin% of Cl^amonli 


come with us now,” and he wrapped me in my 
crimson cloak, while Hero slipped on my sandals. 

He had told me of his intention early in the day, 
and we had agreed that the first act of our wedded 
life should be one of charity and forgiveness towards 
all that remained of one who had, in the past, so 
wrecked his own. 

And now, silently, our little party — the clergy- 
man, the lawyer, my husband, and I, followed by the 
servants — crossed the garden to the graveyard. 
There, over the new-made grave, the beautiful 
service of the Church was solemnly read. Com- 
mending her soul to the care of God and His holy 
angels, — while the gates of the sky stood ajar to 
permit the last gleams of the golden sunset to shine 
on the spot where her poor body was to rest until 
the last great day, — we turned to retrace our steps. 

Thus, hand in hand, side by side, in this world, 
do joy and sorrow move. 

Returning to the house, the lawyer summoned us 
to the library, where papers were signed, and vari- 
ous formalities were complied with before we went 
in to dinner — and then — and then — and then — 
came the end of my brief happiness. 

Brian held me close, so close, while he covered 
my face — hair — hands with kisses. An eternity 
205 


C!)c of Cftomonti 


of bliss and pain was compressed into those few 
moments. My arms were around his neck; his 
lips held mine as if it were impossible to separate 

— and then — he — my husband — my Brian Boru 

— was gone, and I was left to live without him as 
best I could. 

Dear Doctor Barr, I am nearing the end of my 
story, and likewise my life, for I feel that when it 
is done, so will my life be finished, too. It is the 
story of a woman with one great love. With most 
people, affection is disseminated through family and 
friends, but mine has been centered on the one man 
who waits for me beyond the radiant gates of 
Paradise. 

The winter days were long, so long! Whenever 
the weather permitted, I would ride over the farm, 
or along the beach on Comet or Gloriana, with 
Hero, and dear old Surajah running along beside 
me. Indeed they were my constant companions — 
Hero sleeping on a cot outside my door, with the 
faithful dog on a rug at his feet. So that with 
Uncle Silence within call, in a room off the kitchen, 
I was really well protected, but oh, so lonely! I 
tried in vain to take up some study, but I could not 
206 


C!)e of CJomonti 


concentrate my thoughts. I would sit for hours 
in the library, in the spot where Brian first told me 
of his love, building air-castles, in which he and I 
were to dwell in the sweet by and by; and each 
night I ticked oft on my calendar one of the seven 
hundred and thirty days that must pass before he 
was to come again. 

In midwinter I had a visitor — a young girl 
artist, who came, commissioned by my husband, to 
paint the miniature that he so coveted; the one 
that I afterwards took from over his dead heart; 
the one I have given you. 

So, in a state of waiting, my life became that of 
the tranquil lotus-eaters, its only excitement the 
coming of his letters upon whose tender words I 
lived for years. Yes, even long after they had 
ceased to come — alas, until, with much handling 
and fondling, they, too, were lost to me. 

Ah ! how could I do aught but love him ? 
Love him, until love itself in its very intensity 
became pain! 

And yet was I not richer ? What do I say — am 
I not richer? More to be envied in such a pos- 
207 


C!)e of CJomonli 


session — the absorbing possession of a noble life — 
than many a woman who lives out her life beside 
a man in whose affections she has no place? 

Yes, a sorrow’s crown of sorrow is remembering 
happier days, but again — surely — the crowning of 
joy and of love is the assurance that you are the 
impersonation of an ideal! 

As the winter drifted into spring, I lived much 
out-of-doors, interested in everything about the 
farm that would make my letters speak to my hus- 
band of home. I wrote him of the seeds sown, of 
the flowers planted, and of my adoption of another 
little lamb — another Innocence — in place of the 
one growm up. 

And all this time I never left Thomond. I lived 
alone, but no island princess was ever more loyally 
guarded and attended than was I by my faithful 
negro servants. Not once did they waver in fidelity 
and devotion, nor had they one thought other than 
welcoming back the master they loved, and deliver- 
ing to him the young mistress they had come to 
adore. Indeed I believe to these humble, faithful 
servitors I filled the place of child and mistress and 
queen. 


208 


i^ins: of ®^!)omonli 

Living apart as we did, we little heeded the outer 
world, and all with which the papers had been 
teeming since the election of President Lincoln. 

The first shot was fired at Fort Sumter, the 
secession of States followed in quick succession, 
Maryland wavered in the balance, and while many 
of her bravest sons cast their lot with the Confed- 
eracy, the first blood of the Civil War was shed in 
the streets of Baltimore, on the anniversary of the 
battles of Lexington and Concord. The war spirit 
was abroad, and swept over the country. My hus- 
band caught its echoes even in the seclusion of the 
sanitarium, and in an access of impulsive enthusiasm, 
determined to join the Southern army. 

I was to have met him in Baltimore for a brief 
farewell, but, on the eve of taking the steamer, 
received a hurried line from him, telling me that, 
in order to elude the Federal authorities, he had 
joined a party going by another route across the 
Potomac. 

Joining Stuart’s command, he was, in one of his 
daring rides up the valley, made prisoner, and 
brought to Fort McHenry. Again I was about 
to make an effort to see him, when early one eve- 
ning a messenger — a soldier in Federal uniform — 
brought me a sealed letter from the officer in 
209 


®i)e Itinff of CJomottli 


charge of a camp near Queenstown. My husband, 
escaping from Fort McHenry, and trying to make 
his way home, had been recaptured by a pursuing 
party, was severely wounded, and in all probability 
would not live until the morning. 

It was the first of November — the day of All 
Saints! Alas, the anniversary of the day of the 
tournament — the day he had crowned me Queen 
of Love and Beauty — Queen of his Heart. 
Through what depths and heights had I not passed 
in one short year, and now could it be possible 
I was to go over the same pathway to receive the 
last sigh of that heart, so devoted to me? Some- 
thing in my brain seemed to give way at the 
thought, and, as I stood in the arched way reading 
the summons, there seemed a call to me to put on 
the wedding-dress in which I had there plighted 
my faith to him — the dress I had first worn that 
very night one year ago. 

The night was chill, but my crimson cloak would 
shelter me even as the love that had provided it, 
and the men should go — as many as possible — 
and Hero, and Gloriana, and Surajah, and even 
Innocence — the lamb — that was the very picture 
of the one he had first given me. All who loved 
him should go at his call — in the barge. Soon 


210 


dLlie of CJomonH 

we reached the shore and the camp — to find — to 
find — that Thomond was indeed the Garden of 
Irem, and the Death-angel had struck it with his 
lightning-wand — and — and — and — I can write 
no more, Doctor Barr. My husband died that 
night in my arms, and I have never ceased to 
grieve for him. But he will soon be my own once 
more, for God is good. 


2II 


Afterword 


HUS abruptly ended Mrs. O’Brien’s story. 



M I have sometimes thought, was it not best so 
— that joy, gladness, love, and happiness supreme 
be condensed in one brief period — then oblivion — 
death? For I have seen so much in a life pro- 
longed, far sadder than death. 

My interest in Mrs. O’Brien’s life history was 
so intense, that I was glad when, some years later, 
chance revealed to me the name of the officer in 
command of the camp at that time. 

I wrote to him, giving him the main points of the 
narrative, and requesting of him any information he 
felt disposed to give, relating to the capture and 
death of Doctor O’Brien. 

His prompt reply proves an interesting sequel to 
Mrs. O’Brien’s narration: 


New York City, June i8, i8 — . 


“No. 4 East St. 

“ My dear Doctor Barr : — Your letter comes 
to me like a voice from the past, and I am only too 


212 


CI)c Einff of CbomonH 


happy to answer your courteous inquiries. I re- 
member the circumstances perfectly; I have good 
cause to. 

“ Doctor O’Brien, a prisoner at Fort McHenry, 
had managed to escape, and as it was supposed he 
would naturally seek his home and his wife on his 
way South, before recrossing the Potomac, we were 
notified to be on the lookout for him. Results 
proved the soundness of the conjecture, and he was 
recaptured and unfortunately wounded by our 
scouting party, at the moment of embarking for 
his island home. 

“ Being a physician, and recognizing the serious 
nature of his wound, he begged that his wife might 
be notified. Impressed as I was by his courage and 
general bearing, — he was every inch a gentleman, 
— I was quite ready to respond to his request, and 
the messenger was immediately despatched. Mean- 
while, in the interval of waiting, he told me the 
history of his life, and of the wife, for whom he 
left with me loving messages, fearing that the end 
might come before she could arrive. We gave him 
stimulants, and made him as comfortable as possible. 
About nine o’clock a red light in the distance noti- 
fied us of the approach of a boat, which proved to 
be a large barge, rowed by eight negro men. As 
213 


CJe ilins: of ®^[)omonIi 


it drew nearer, we could distinguish the form of 
a young woman standing in the prow, leaning with 
her right arm on the neck of a white ass, while 
her left hand rested on the head of a large mastiff. 
Her figure, slight in appearance as a child; her 
face, of a marvellously beautiful type, had all the 
maturity of womanhood. Her dress was that of 
a bride, a white satin, richly embroidered. Over 
her shoulders was a crimson cloak, bordered with 
ermine. Her dark hair, parted low on the left side, 
had no covering beyond a white veil and a wreath 
of orange blossoms. Her eyes, pathetic with intense 
sadness, looked straight ahead of her, nor did she 
seem to notice anything as she landed and mounted. 

“ I thought at once of Una on her white ass, 
with her lion and lamb, for it was as if she had 
just stepped from the * Faerie Queene.’ 

Surely it was a unique cavalcade that ap- 
proached our camp in the light of the full autumn 
moon. The white ass, with its scarlet trappings, 
led by a little negro lad, and bearing this beautiful 
woman in her flowers and ermine — at once a bride 
and a queen. She led by a blue ribbon a white 
lamb, while on the other side stalked the magnificent 
lion-mastiff, and behind walked gravely and sol- 
emnly her body-guard of negro men. 


214 


aLht of O^omonU 


“ Instinctively my men stood attention, and every 
head was uncovered as the little procession passed 
on through the camp to the tent, where the dying 
one lay watching. He must have noted every detail, 
for I heard him murmur: ‘My bride — my Una 
with her lion and her lamb — my good true men ! ’ 
Soon, hastily dismounting, she had pillowed his 
poor head on her breast. 

“‘My husband — my Brian Boru!’ 

“ ‘ My wife — my Constance ! Now death come 
quickly, since I have seen you once again.’ 

“ ‘ No, dearest ! See how many are here to love 
you ! ’ And the faithful servants crowded around 
him with the affectionate, endearing expressions 
peculiar to the race. 

“ Wrapped in their blankets they sat all night 
outside the tent, a watch for any service they could 
render. The big mastiff came close — Surajah, I 
think they called him — and whined and licked his 
face, as his master patted his head ; and the ass and 
the lamb came, too. He had a word for each and 
all. But it was an effort, evidently, for he was 
sinking. Soon he rested quietly in her arms, which 
enfolded him, and so they passed the night. 

“ Closer and closer together came the two black 


215 


d)e of CftomonU 


heads; closer and closer came death; came and 
took his stand beside him. 

“ * My love; my Una — my Constance — fare- 
well.’ She held him close, her lips pressed to his 
brow, and as the dawn came in, his soul went out 
to meet it. 

“ Tenderly she laid him down, and turned to 
me as she rose, her dress stained with his life-blood, 
her veil washed out by the night, and putting back 
the masses of damp hair from her brow with a 
weary gesture. Youth seemed to have faded during 
the night, and her face was changed as one from 
which life had fled; the beauty remained, but it 
was lifeless, as if carved in marble. Her voice also 
was expressionless, although the tones were low and 
musical, as she said, as if in her sleep : ‘ I think 
we will go now — if you please — back to Tho- 
mond. Have I your permission? He is no longer 
a prisoner of war. He is free. The good King of 
Thomond.’ 

“ We made a rough litter, and over him she 
threw the cloak of crimson and ermine, and he 
in truth looked like a king asleep, as the strange 
procession retraced its steps to the boat in the hush 
of the November dawn. Reverently my men — 
his captors — laid him in the boat, and she took 
216 


d)e of Cbrnnonti 


his head in her lap. ‘ Hark you, gentlemen ! ’ she 
said. ‘ I ask your pardon for any trouble we have 
given you, and I pray you accept my forgiveness 
for the sorrow you have, I am sure, unwillingly 
brought to me. You did but your duty. And now 
push off! Boys, back to Thomond.’ Involuntarily 
my soldiers knelt with hats doffed, and, as the light 
broadened, they rowed away in the flush of the 
rising sun, and were lost to our sight over the blue 
waters of the Chesapeake. 

“To paraphrase a famous poet : 

“ ‘ She stood beside me, the embodied vision of 
the brightest dream, that, like a dawn, heralds the 
day of life; the shadow of her presence would have 
made for me a paradise; all familiar things she 
touched; all common words she spoke, became to 
me like forms and sounds of a diviner world. She 
was as the sun, as lovely. She came and went, and 
left me what I am.’ 

“ I am a grizzled old bachelor, who knows more 
of war and camps than of tea-cups and drawing- 
rooms. I have never married, because I have met 
no woman who awoke in me the same emotions. 
When the war was over, I went back to Maryland. 
Thomond was in the hands of strangers. The 
slaves, of course, had been freed, and were scattered, 
217 


CJe Einff of C&omonU 


and I could only learn that, through reverses inci- 
dent to the war, Mrs. O’Brien, left penniless, had 
gone away, no one knew where, and all my subse- 
quent efforts to trace her were unavailing, until 
your letter solved the mystery. 

“ The indebtedness, therefore, is entirely with, 
“ Yours very cordially and gratefully, 

“ P. B. A.” 


THE END. 






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